Don't Look Away
by kazumigirl
Summary: The sequel to 'Sweet Silver Lining' various drabbles about our fav. oddball family, Holmes, Watson, and Sophie.
1. Year 2

**Chapter One: Year 2**

**Author's note:** Okay, I know the song 'Wimoweh' was written much, much later, but for the sake of this chapter, let's pretend it's some well-known folksong or something. Okay? Other than that, I hope you enjoy it.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. For two-year old Sophie Watson-Holmes anyway. Her fathers, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, were so preoccupied with their case work that they hardly noticed her lying on the floor, singing incoherently to the ceiling. Beside her, Lucy and Lisa were propped up against a stack of books, casework research.

"So I suspect it was the butler," Watson shrugged.

Holmes shook his head. "Too much evidence. A butler-knowing every inch of the house, and all of its secrets, would know better than to leave so many clues to the murder."

Sophie groaned. She didn't care about the butler, or the murder-whatever those were. She just wanted somebody to play with her. Nanny was away, visiting her family. Gladstone was asleep in the corner, snoring loudly. Lucy and Lisa didn't do much, unless Sophie or Daddy or Papa did it for them, so they were of little use.

Her eyes wandered around the room, carefully scanning for something interesting. She slowly sat up, her gaze resting on something Holmes had left on the small table beside his chair. It was still smoking.

She stood up, glancing briefly at Holmes and Watson who were arguing about footprints and mud. She then made her way over to the chair and climbed onto it, leaning over to take the item. She held it both of her hands, studying it carefully. It was warm, and slightly heavy. She smelled it, and withdrew quickly, not enjoying the scent at all. She sat down in the chair, slouching slightly. Clumsily, she placed the long part of the object between her lips, using her teeth to distribute its awkward weight. She wasn't sure why Daddy did this, but apparently it was important because he did it often. She waited, and waited, and finally sucked on it, deciding something must be inside.

Holmes and Watson whipped their heads around, hearing Sophie choke, gag, and cough at the same time. She thrust forward, gagging and spitting, Holmes' lit pipe falling onto the floor. She soon followed, barely catching herself as she continued her choking assault.

"Sophie!" Watson got to her first, Holmes only a second behind him.

The doctor placed one hand on her back, and one hand on her torso. He then took hold of her head and swept a finger through her mouth. He looked at Holmes, who was staring down at the pipe, his face pale.

"Holmes!" He growled, ripping it off of the floor. "You left this out again? And lit?"

Sophie finished coughing, her face red, her eyes watering. "I don't like that," she croaked, frowning at the pipe.

"That's right," Watson agreed, nodding. He showed her the pipe. "This is dangerous. We don't put it in our mouths, or pick it up." He frowned at Holmes again. "Wherever it might be."

"Daddy." Sophie turned to Holmes. She pointed to the pipe, her pitch raising with every syllable. "That's eww..." she squenched up her nose and eyes. "Eww..."

Watson and Holmes couldn't help but chuckle. Holmes took the pipe from Watson and carried it away, and when he returned, he looked around, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Well, old boy," he sighed. "I don't think we're going to get anywhere today." He bent over to pick up Sophie, who was raising her arms to be held. He manuevered her in his arms so that she was upside down. "What do you say we make other plans for the afternoon?"

Sophie giggled, and tried to touch the floor with her fingertips. Holmes turned her right-side-up and set her back down on the ground. Watson frowned thoughtfully, and finally nodded.

* * *

It was dreary and wet outside, but they put on their coats and hats, and decided to leave the house. Sophie danced by the front door, hopping from foot to foot impatiently. Watson joined her, and they both watched Holmes, struggling to get a leashed Gladstone to move. He sat, staring blankly at the detective, and licked his lips.

"Lazy beast!" Holmes growled, tugging again. "Come now."

Gladstone blinked before resting his head on his paws, closing his eyes. Watson snorted and Sophie set Lucy and Lisa down-one at a time, before making her way over to the dog. She squatted down and patted his head firmly. "Get up."

The dog didn't even bother acknowledging her. She took her index finger and thumb, and pried one of his eyes open. It rolled back in her head. She frowned and looked up at Holmes. "Daddy..."

Holmes clapped, he whistled, he threw his hat and said, "Fetch." The dog still didn't budge. Watson leaned against the door, an amused smirk plastered onto his face.

Sophie finally sat on top of the dog, pulling on his ears like the reins on a horse. He rolled over onto his back, making Sophie lose her balance and fall onto her side. She whimpered and whined a bit, and then hit the dog. It hardly phased him. He scratched his belly with one of his back legs.

"Nooooooooo...." Sophie whined, shaking him. "Noooooooo...."

"Maybe just doesn't feel like going out today, Dear," Watson said from his place at the door.

Sophie went to his back end and began to push. Holmes busted out laughing, pointing at her and looking at Watson. He tried to say something, but was overtaken by another fit of laughter. Sophie pushed, and the dog snorted a bit, his eyes still closed. She got him all the way to the door, and he sat up, turning his head to itch his hindquarters.

The toddler took hold of his leash and knocked on the door. Watson stepped aside, opening it. Sophie tugged, and tugged, and tugged, but Gladstone still did not budge. This made her angry, and she threw his leash down, screaming and stomping her feet. Holmes tugged at her little arm.

"He'll tag along next time," he told her, prodding her out the door.

* * *

They spent the remainder of the day walking around the area, the bottom of their trousers soaked from Sophie stomping in puddles. They stopped at a cafe to eat dinner, and the waiter smiled at Sophie when he arrived at their table.

"Good evening," he said, looking right at her. "How are you this evening?"

Sophie looked up from playing with her cloth napkin and retrieved her doll from the floor. "Lucy," she said, almost shoving it in his face. She then retrieved the other. "Lisa."

The waiter held his breath, but continued to smile. He turned to the men with her. "She's lovely," he chuckled. "So who's the father and who's the uncle?"

"He's the father," Watson nodded at Holmes. He didn't give anymore clarification.

They fed Sophie from their plates, but she was not willing to share the dessert. Holmes stole a glob of whipped cream from the top with his finger, and Sophie whined, tugging at Watson's sleeve and pointing. As she did so, Holmes took her spoon and took a bite. This made her more frantic and she wrapped her arms around the plate possessively, scowling. "Mine."

* * *

Watson returned home late from visiting a patient, a cranky patient at that. He'd been called for just as they arrived home. The patient was an older man, losing his mind, and continued to address the doctor as 'Sir Edward Longbothom'-whoever that was. He also rattled off about a war that Watson wasn't so sure ever even happened, and he had a terrible case of Halitosis. All in all, home was very welcoming.

Before he even got halfway up the stairs, he heard a violin, and not just plucking. Actual music. He also heard squealing. Squealing laughter, to be exact. He smiled, pausing in mid-step, listening to the heavenly laughter. He continued on, and knocked on the bedroom door before opening it. Holmes was in his usual chair, Sophie in his lap. He played a tune on his fiddle, and Sophie nodded her head from side to side, grinning widely. Neither of them seemed to notice the doctor standing in the open doorway.

"Again!" Sophie squealed when Holmes stopped playing, finally eyeing Watson.

"Go to sleep, lions," Holmes whispered in her hear, and then began to play a gentle tune, singing softly, " 'In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight." He looked at Watson. " In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight' ."

Sophie covered her mouth, suppressing giggles. She obviously knew something fun was about to happen. Watson moved his gaze from the girl to Holmes, who began playing wildly, moving around in the chair, making Sophie hang onto him, laughing.

" 'Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimowehhhh' !" He began playing softly again. "In the village, the peaceful village, the lion sleeps tonight." He leaned his head sideways, touching it to the top of Sophie's. "'....Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh'!"

Sophie squealed again, kicking her feet. Watson couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. Holmes continued the song/game, and finally settled down for good.

"Hush, my darling, don't cry my darling," he almost whispered. "Hush, my darling, don't cry, my darling-the lion sleeps tonight."

"Weemoolay!" Sophie slapped her thighs. "Weemoolay!"

Holmes set his violin down. He looked at Watson. "I'd say we have our own little lion that needs to sleep tonight."

Watson nodded. "Time for bed, Misses."

Sophie pouted. She manuevered her tiny body around like a noodle, reaching for the violin the detective had put away, just out of reach. Holmes frowned at her, shaking his head and scoffing. Watson mouthed something to him, pointing at her exposed stomach where her nightgown had ridden up. Holmes raised his eyebrows in understanding, and began a tickle assault on her. She screamed with laughter, trying to pry his fast, strong hands away.

"Papa!" She squealed. "Papa!"

Holmes continued to tickle her, shaking his head casually. Sophie stopped laughing, and began to growl. Watson raised his eyebrows and said, "I'd let that one go, old boy. Looks like it might bite."

Holmes released her, and set her down on the floor. She raced over to Watson, holding up her arms. He pretended to back away from her. "I don't want to cuddle a ferocious lion," he warned.

"I'm not lion!" Sophie said indignantly, but smiling.

"Could have fooled us," Holmes muttered, standing up to yawn and stretch.

"Daddy." She turned around and scowled. "Not lion."

"Alright then." Watson scooped her up. "I guess you're a little girl."

Sophie nodded and leaned her head against him, releasing a long, drawn-out yawn. The doctor carried her next door and tucked her into bed. He put Lucy and Lisa on either side of her, and gave all three of them a kiss. "All good?" he asked, smoothing out the comforter.

The little girl nodded, blinking heavily. She watched as Watson reached over to turn off the oil lamp, and when it grew dark, she closed her eyes. Holmes and Watson were working hard to keep her there all night, but thus far, their attempts had resulted in failure.

"Goodnight, Lucy," Watson said, kissing the doll she held up. "Goodnight, Lisa."

Holmes did the same, only wordlessly. Sophie closed her eyes, and Watson and Holmes sighed.

"Tomorrow night for sure," Holmes said.

"Definitely," Watson agreed.

**Author's note:** For those of you who have never heard 'Wimoweh', go to youtube and look up "Laurie Berkner Wimoweh" 

To Be Continued....


	2. Year 3

**Chapter 2: Year Three  
**

"And then, um...well, the princess didn't like that one," Sophie said, turning another page in the book. "She liked the other one. Well, after she painted..." she paused in her 'reading' and glanced to her left-Watson, and then to her right-Holmes. "I don't know."

Watson chuckled and Holmes nodded. He pointed to one of the pages. It was one of Watson's medical guides. "Do tell me," he said. "I remember you mentioning a talking horse named Carlton-"

"No, Daddy." Sophie closed the book. "No more bedtime story."

"It was a beautiful story," Watson told her, leaning down to kiss her. "I can't wait to hear the rest tomorrow evening."

"No," Sophie said, shaking her head. "We're not reading that story tomorrow." She sat up and leaned over Watson to drop the book on the floor. "Tomorrow I want you to read me a story again."

She wriggled back in between them and sighed contently. "It's bedtime now," she said, her face serious.

"You certainly sound stern for somebody who is supposed to be sleeping in her own bed," Holmes informed her.

"You can't sleep with us forever," Watson added.

"Why?" Sophie turned her head slightly, raising her eyes to him.

"What will we do when you grow?" Watson explained. "There won't be room for the three of us."

Sophie pondered this. She smiled toothily and said, "Then _Daddy_ will sleep in my bed and I'll stay here with Papa!" She hugged Watson, snuggling into his side.

Watson laughed and Holmes groaned good-naturedly. He sat up half-way, propped up on his side, and pulled Sophie away, towards him. "So fierce!" He growled, tickling her.

Sophie wriggled around, laughing, trying to pry his hands away. When he released her, she rolled over and leaned into his face, kissing him on the lips. "We can all sleep in my bed."

* * *

"No!" She whined as Watson cut up her breakfast. "I want to do it!"

"No, you'll hurt yourself," Watson said, quickly finishing the job. He scooted her chair closer to the table and put a napkin in the front of her dress. "Now hurry and eat. Mama's coming today."

"Mama!" She squealed, bouncing up and down on her stack of books. "Mama! Mama!"

" 'Mama' 'Mama'," Holmes mimicked in a high-pitched whisper across the table. In his normal voice he said, "You can't see Mama until you eat your breakfast."

Holmes and Watson were happy that Irene was still in Sophie's life, but it always made them a bit cranky when she came around. She would take Sophie to wherever she was currently residing and keep her anywhere from a few days to a a month. It was relaxing, in a way, and certainly nice to have their privacy, but they missed her just the same.

"When is Mama coming?" The three-year old asked, her mouth full.

Watson looked up from his coffee. "Not with your mouth full," he reminded her.

Sophie quickly swallowed and asked again, "When is Mama coming?"

"She should be arriving today," The doctor replied, reaching over to brush a few crumbs away from her lips. "You just have to be patient."

As if on cue, and to Sophie's delight, there was a knock at the door. Sophie dropped her toast on the floor as she climbed down from her chair, and briefly glanced at it before racing out of the dining room. Holmes followed her and opened the door just as the toddler started to do so herself. She still hadn't figured out the chain lock too hight for her to reach was _always _locked.

"My darling!" Irene laughed, just as Sophie flew into her arms. She scooped her up and smothered her with kisses. "Mama missed you so much."

She looked up and leaned forward, kissing Sherlock briefly. Watson entered the room and she did the same. She let Sophie dangle in her arms for a moment, and then set her down, taking her hand. "She's gotten so big. How long has it been?"

"Only two months," the doctor smiled.

Sophie tugged at her mother's hand. "Come and see what I did! Come and see, Mama!"

Irene allowed herself to be taken upstairs and Sophie held up a stack of scratch paper used for case notes, flipping them over to reveal crayon drawings. Irene knelt down, taking the stack from her. Sophie tugged at her dress, forcing her into a sitting position, and moved to her lap.

"This is Gladstone-" she pointed to a scribble. "And this is Daddy, and this is Papa, and this is Clarkey, and this is Lestrade, and this is Nanny, and this is Lucy, and this is Lisa, and this is you, and this is me, and this is the post man-"

"What are we doing in these pictures?" Irene asked softly, inhaling the scent of her curls.

"Um..." Sophie took one of the sheets from her. "In this one, Papa is putting a wrap on my arm because I fell outside." She turned her head, and held up her arm, pointing to an imaginary scar. "I was running and it was wet and I fell."

"Oh, no." Irene pouted, and kissed the 'abrasion'. "And this one?"

"This one is Daddy playing violin. He's playing the song that goes doo-dee-dee-doo-doo-dee-dee." she nodded her head as she explained.

"_Pathetique_," Holmes explained, clearing his throat. Irene and Watson stared at him. "Beethoven."

"Daddy and Papa are so good to you," Irene said, turning Sophie around to face her. "These are beautiful pictures."

"I know," the toddler replied casually. She fingered her mother's hair. Irene stood up, lifting the little girl with her.

* * *

The first few nights Sophie was away, Holmes and Watson enjoyed themselves, especially in bed, which they hardly had to themselves. It was said that children destroyed the flames of passion in a relationship, but Holmes and Watson knew better. They'd never been more in love, more _connected_, since she'd entered their lives.

"Love you," Watson panted in a whisper, trailing his lips along Holmes' face.

"Love _you_," Holmes murmured back, raising his head a little.

It was bliss-the much wanted, and needed sex. They couldn't get enough of each other, but even though the encounters were welcomed, they found the days growing longer without Sophie.

* * *

Two weeks. Two long weeks, and Sophie was back. Irene carried her inside the house when Holmes opened the door. It wasn't anything new. Irene always brought her back while she was sleeping. As sharp as the toddler was, she still didn't quite understand why her mother wasn't always there like her fathers. Holmes and Watson constantly offered their home to her, but she always declined.

"We had a good time," she said quietly, bouncing the little girl slightly as she shifted her weight.

Sophie stirred a little, whining, and Holmes took her. She immediately went right back to sleep. Irene followed him upstairs to the little girl's room-Watson's old room, and watched as he carefully placed her in the bed.

"Think she'll stay there?" She joked.

"I could put her in handcuffs and she'd still find her way next door," Holmes joked back, dryly. He covered her up and looked at Irene. "Where's-"

"In her bag." Irene opened the satchel with Sophie's things, retrieving the two dolls. She placed them on either side of the child.

"You know you're always welcome to stay with us," the detective said, looking at Sophie.

Irene shook her head. "I used to think it was a mistake, bringing her here, away from me..." she gingerly sat on the bed, and threaded her fingers through Sophie's. "It wasn't. It was the one choice I've ever made correctly."

To Be Continued.... 

**Author's note:** Okay, for those of you who don't have any experience with three-year olds, they never shut up. They talk, and talk, and talk, so I had a lot of fun with this chapter because Sophie is finally talking! Not just baby-talk like in SSL, but actual sentences.


	3. Year 4

**Chapter Three: Year Four**

"C," Watson read carefully, his finger touching Sophie's as they traced the page. "A-"

"CAT!" Sophie slapped the book, giggling. "It says _Cat_, Papa!"

"Good girl." Watson pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. Still holding her against his torso, he pointed to the book. "How about this one?"

Sophie mouthed each letter to herself and then grinned. "DOG!" She looked around. "Where's Gladstone?"

"He's probably sleeping," Watson replied. He turned the page. "What about this one?"

Sophie looked at the page, and then closed the book. She manuevered herself into the doctor's lap and wriggled around until she was facing him, holding onto his shirt. "Papa, why do you do and Daddy love each other?"

The question threw Watson offguard. Sophie had been with them for nearly two years now, and she'd never asked anything like that. He didn't fret over it. He and Holmes had discussed the idea vaguely. Eventually, Sophie would wonder _why_ she had two fathers, and it was only fair that she knew the truth. He only wished Holmes weren't out to discuss case matters with Lestrade.

"What do you mean, Dear?" He asked softly leaning back on one of his hands.

"Does everybody have two daddies?" She continued, fingering the buttons on his shirt. "And their mamas live somewhere else?"

"Mm..." the doctor shook his head. "Not necessarily, but every family is different."

"Does everybody have a daddy?" Sophie looked sad. "And a mama?"

Watson rubbed her back with his free hand. "Not everybody," he confessed. When Sophie's face only fell even more, he stood up, lifting her into his arms. "But you know what?"

"What?" She leaned her head on his shoulder, her fingers tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

"We're a very, very, very lucky family," he said softly, closing his eyes, holding her tighter. "Daddy and I are lucky to have you, and so is Mama."

"Am I luck to have you?" Sophie whispered against him.

"I don't know." Watson pulled her away to make eye-contact. "Do you think you're lucky?"

"Yes." Sophie nodded. "You read me stories, and..." she traced his moustache. "And you...help me when I fall down or bump my head-" she rubbed her head, smiling. "Ouch!"

Watson laughed. "That's because I'm Dr. Papa."

"Dr. Papa," Sophie repeated in a whisper, still touching his moustache. She continued. "You help me read my books..." she frowned. "But I don't like it when you get mad at me, or spank me." She scowled.

Watson chuckled. "I don't like it when I get angry with you either," he said. "And I don't like to spank you, but _I _don't like it when you disobey us or get yourself into something that could seriously hurt you."

"Daddy spanked me with his violin stick!" Sophie frowned. "I was walking by and he went 'woosh' with his stick and hit me!"

Watson rolled his eyes, smiling. "He didn't hit you hard enough for it to be a spanking," he said, remembering it clearly because it had only happened hours ago. "And you laughed."

"Can I never get spanked again?" Sophie asked.

"If you never misbehave again," Watson replied simply. Still holding her, he moved across the room to his chair and sat down. Sophie picked at the chair.

"Mommy spanks me too, sometimes," she admitted. "I ran into the street and when she pulled me back, she did it." She raised her eyes. "I won't run into the street anymore."

"That's very good," the doctor nodded. He lowered his gaze and Sophie took one of his hands in both of hers, playing with his fingers. She leaned against him.

"So why do you and Daddy love each other?" She asked.

Watson was silent for a moment, and finally said, "Because we care about each other, and sometimes we get cross with each other, but even when that happens we still want the other one to be there."

The little girl stopped messing with his fingers. "Is it like that with me?"

"Yes," Watson nodded.

"Sometimes I get mad at you and Daddy too, but even when I'm mad, I still want you to read to me and make me feel better when I fall down or bump my head."

Watson smiled to himself. He couldn't help but think about how much the four-year old sounded like her biological father. Hadn't he done all those things for Holmes before she came around? Shaking his head slightly, he realized he still did.

"Papa?" Sophie raised her head.

"Yes, Sophie?"

"Does Daddy think we're lucky?"

"I'm sure he does."

* * *

"And look, Daddy-Daddy?" Sophie, tapped the book against her father's thigh. "Daddy, listen, alright?"

"I'm listening." Holmes turned back to the matter at hand, trying to push casework out of his head.

Sophie snuggled closer to him. "This word-this says _CAT_." She smiled up at him.

"Marvelous," Holmes said quietly. He pointed. "And this one?"

"_DOG_," Sophie said. "Like Gladstone. He's a dog too, you know."

"I didn't, but thank you for informing me of that," the detective replied. "And this word?"

Sophie paused. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I don't know that word."

"M." Holmes pointed to the first letter. "O..."

"Mmmmmmooowwwwwssssieeee...?" Sophie trailed the word with her finger. "_MOUSE."_

Holmes grinned. "You're incredibly smart." He turned the page. "And incredibly beautiful, and crafty...chip off the old block, eh, Sophie?"

"I look like Mama," Sophie said, her face serious.

"Oh." He shrugged. He pointed to another word. Sophie shook her head.

"Daddy?" She leaned against him. "Do you think we're lucky?"

"What do you mean?" Holmes rearranged himself in his chair, pulling Sophie closer.

"Papa said we're a lucky family," the little girl explained. "Even when you spank me and get cross with me."

Holmes stared into space. "I never really thought of it that way," he said, his voice trailing off with his gaze.

"Do you love Papa?" She turned her head to face him.

"All the time," he said, looking at her. "I don't always _like_ him, but I'll always love him." He kissed her. "You as well."

"You don't always like me?" She looked indignant.

"I don't always like the things you do," the detective corrected himself. "I don't like it when you throw tantrums over petty issues. I don't like it when you get into things we tell you not to..." he stroked some of her hair.

"Do you like it when I read to you?" She asked hopefully.

"Oh, I adore it," her father replied. "Your voice alone is poetry."

They were silent for a little while, and finally, Sophie asked, "Daddy?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I don't remember..." her voice was heavy with sleep.

* * *

Watson returned from his patient visit to find Holmes and Sophie in the detective's chair, both of them passed out. They were also both snoring. The doctor only shook his head and moved about the room as quietly as he could, going about his work. As he flipped through various medical guides, comparing them to his patient notes, he watched Holmes and Sophie. They truly were lucky to have each other.

* * *

"_BROWN_," Sophie read. "_GREEN, BLUE, YELL...YELL..."_ She looked up from her book. "Papa, what's this word?"

"Yellow," he read. "You should really put the book away, Darling. You'll get motion-sickness trying to read in here." He was referring to the carriage they were riding in.

"No." She shook her head. "_RED, GOLD, PURPLE..." _She looked back up. "Why are we going to ride on the train?"

"We're going to visit your uncle," Holmes explained. "Mycroft. He's been yearning to meet you."

Sophie made a face. "I don't want to go see Mycroft."

Watson snorted. "You don't even know who he is."

"I still don't want to see him." She turned her attention back to her book. "_CAKE, BREAD, APPLE..."_

"Holmes." Watson cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "It's been a few years...does he..." he shifted uneasily. "Does he know about us?"

"Yes." Holmes nodded, staring out the window.

* * *

"Sophie, sit down," Watson sighed, pulling the little girl down by the arm.

"I don't want to ride the train anymore," the little girl whined, tugging at her hair. "I want to get off!"

"You'll just have to be patient," Watson said.

"Sophie?" Holmes motioned for her with his finger. She trudged over to him and sat down. "Did I mention that your uncle Mycroft has horses."

The little girl's eyes widened. "NO."

"And chickens," the detective nodded. "Would you like to see them when we arrive?"

"Yes." Sophie grinned.

* * *

"One day somebody's going to have to invent some other form of transportation," Watson groaned, carrying a sleeping Sophie his shoulder.

Two carriage rides and a train ride. All three agonizingly slow, and with Sophie's frustrated boredom, it had only made the trips slower. They stood in front of Mycroft's country estate, rain and thunder threatning overhead. Holmes adjusted his hat and offered his arms for Sophie. He knew damp weather irritated the doctor's leg.

"Mmm..." Sophie stirred and opened her eyes. "Are we off the train?"

"Yes." Holmes said, removing his hat and placing it on her head as they hurried up to the porch. Rain drops were already falling.

They knocked at the door, and when nobody responded, knocked again. Something inside moved, and they heard heavy breathing followed by a, "Just a bloody minute"

Mycroft opened the door, still panting, and grinned. "Hello there!"

"Hello." Watson nodded polietly, and Holmes just raised his brows, moving past his brother into the house. He tried to put Sophie down, and she whined and dug her nails into him, wrapping her legs around his torso.

"There she is!" Mycroft beamed, his deep-set eyes becoming slits. He removed Holmes' hat from her head and tossed it on the floor.

"Would you like to say hello?" Watson asked her.

"No." Sophie buried her face in Holmes' shoulder.

"She's shy," Holmes shrugged, sighing.

"No, she's _selective_," Mycroft said, raising a finger. "You were the same way as a lad. Still are, no doubt." He panted as he moved across the room, towards the kitchen. He started some tea.

"So what's it like then?" He called from the stove. "Raising a child?"

Holmes and Watson looked at each other. They weren't even sure words could begin to describe it. Sophie peeked over the detective's shoulder, and when she decided on Mycroft staying in the other room, she pushed away from Holmes and moved to the floor. She still held onto his with one arm.

Mycroft waddled back into the room, and collapsed into his chair. Watson and Holmes sat across from him on the sofa. Sophie scrambled into Holmes' lap.

"Sherlock!" He chuckled. "The thought of you...a child...it tickles me..."

"Does it?" Holmes raised his eyebrows in amusement, but his voice was flat.

"Where is your cake?" Sophie spoke up.

Mycroft, still grinning, moved his gaze to her. "Where's what, Dearie?"

"Cake." Sophie frowned skeptically. "It's vanilla cake...it has cream and strawberries."

A twinkle glinted in her uncle's eye. "Oh? And how do you know this delicious cake is here?"

Holmes and Watson looked at her. Sophie pointed to Mycroft. "You have some crumbs right here-" she tugged at her own collar with one hand, still pointing with the other. "And there's cream right here-" she pointed to her left thigh. "And I bake with Nanny and she makes vanilla cake." She sniffed the air.

"And the strawberries?" Mycroft asked.

Sophie pointed to a small wreath of strawberry leaves on the floor. It was far off in the corner, barely visible. Mycroft roared with laughter, slapping his thighs. "She's yours alright, Sherlock!"

Watson and Holmes glanced at each other, and then back at Sophie. Holmes cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his fist, but Watson could see it in his eyes that he was beaming.

To Be Continued...

**Author's note: **Okay, before you get angry for what I did to Mycroft, I never read the original stories. All I've heard is that's he's a great, big fat guy who can barely move around, but is also very clever. Either way, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. And if you're wondering, Sophie saw the horses and chickens ;)


	4. Year 5

**Chapter Four: Year Five**

"Daddy?" Sophie looked up from her pile of magazines on the floor. Watson collected them from various office visits and patients. The five-year old was always eager to have them.

"Mm?" Holmes didn't even look up from his chemicals.

"May I use the scissors?" She was already looking around for them.

"The little ones," the detective replied, absent-mindedly fumbling around the table to grab them. He handed them to her.

It wasn't a problem. Holmes and Watson trusted her thoroughly. She constantly had the scissors, and could sit for hours cutting out pictures in magazines. She kept all of her clippings in an old lock box she'd claimed years ago, and carried them around the house like treasure.

"Thank you." She went back to her project, humming quietly and she cut along the edges of the Victorian ladies.

The door opened and Watson stepped in, coat in arm. Sophie briefly looked up, smiling, and then went back to her work. Watson moved briskly across the room and crouched down to kiss her. "Hello," he said, kissing her three more times.

"Hello." Sophie kissed him back. She held up one of her paper dolls. "This is Lina."

"Another Lina?" Watson raised his eyebrows. "How about Lacey? or Lucille? Or Leanne?"

The little girl shook her head. "No. Lina."

The doctor only sighed, still smiling, and stood back up. He moved over to Holmes and pecked him on the lips. "Too many patients today," he said, collapsing into his chair.

"I can only imagine," the detective said, turning back to the chemicals. "Watson, I do believe we may have made a break in the Randall case." He turned around, a beaker in each hand. "Observe."

"Not now, Holmes..." the other man groaned, closing his eyes. "The last thing I want to do is think of _more_ work."

"Speaking of work," Holmes set the beakers down. "Why didn't you tell me you'd hired a tutor?" He frowned.

Watson closed his eyes again, mouthing a foul word. "She came by?"

"Yes, she did," Holmes nodded. "And I turned her away."

"Holmes!" Watson sat up straight. "Sophie is five," he said, holding up five fingers as if to illustrate his point. "She needs an education."

"We can give her one," Holmes snorted, shrugging one shoulder. "I just don't want some sneaky stranger in our home with our daughter filling her head with God knows what."

"We haven't the time to teach her all the she needs to know," Watson said slowly, leaning back once more. "Oh, yes, and I've set Sophie up for a play-group."

"A what?" Holmes stared at him, his eyebrows raised.

"One of my patients mentioned it to me. It's becoming a new trend, especially with more and more women going to school and work," the doctor replied. "Two afternoons a week, Sophie will be under the care of Mrs. Swinton. She's a widow with two children of her own. With Sophie, she'll be watching a total of six."

Holmes looked at Sophie, and then back at Watson. "She'll catch her death," he said. "Children are..._dirty_ and always have runny noses."

"She'll be fine," Watson said, massaging his eyes with his fingertips. "Besides, Mrs. Swinton could definitely use the extra income."

"How do you know she isn't boiling them down in the cellar?" The detective quizzed, moving to his own chair. "Or shipping them overseas in some scandelous trade?"

Watson moved his gaze over to Sophie. "She needs the social interaction, Holmes."

* * *

Sophie cried when she received the news. Watson rubbed her back as she sobbed into his shirt. Holmes stood behind her, silently fuming and gloating at the same time.

"You're going to have a good time," the doctor promised her, frowning at the detective.

"I don't want to go," Sophie squeaked, digging her fingers into his shirt. "I want to stay here with you and Daddy."

"Sophie-" Watson pried her away. "Sophie-" it was difficult. "_Sophia_." She pulled away, her bottom lip quivering.

"Let me take her," Holmes offered.

Watson raised his gaze. "Will you really take her?" He didn't ask it in a sincere way, but more of a can-I-trust-you sort or way.

Holmes tugged at Sophie's arm. "Come along, Love."

* * *

Mrs. Swinton didn't look evil or shady, but Holmes still kept his guard up as she led him into the house. Little children were everywhere as well as little-children sized tables, chairs, and mirrors. A little girl about Sophie's age raced by and slapped the detective on the rear.

"Angelina!" Miss Swinton scolded. "We do not hit."

Sophie giggled, and her grip on Holmes' hand loosened slightly. Miss Swinton motioned for them to follow her. "I already spoke with Dr. Watson," she said, her cheeks pink, her step bouncy. "He told me Sophie is very bright and bubbly."

"She's a mess," Holmes smiled, only half sarcastically. He glanced down at the mop of chocolate curls.

"Hello." A little boy trotted over and Sophie hid behind her father, still clutching his hand. "I'm Daniel. What's your name?" He had already lost a front tooth.

"Sophie," she replied, just above a whisper.

"Daniel, why don't you-" Miss Swinton gently pulled Sophie's free hand. "Take Miss Holmes over to the table where your friends are painting pictures?"

Daniel nodded in the direction and Sophie's hand slid out of her father's. Quietly, she followed him to a table where three other children sat in little chairs, giggling and painting. Miss Swinton smiled, turning to the detective. "Transition is a frightening thing," she said. "For anybody, not just children."

"Yes." Holmes nodded, peeking around her to stare at his daughter. He stared down at the floor briefly and looked back up, quickly regaining composure.

Miss Swinton seemed to understand. She cocked her head slightly, and placed a hand to his shoulder. "She'll be alright."

"Daddy!" Sophie grinned, already sitting in one of the little chairs. "Look!" She held up her hands, which were covered in bright purple paint.

Holmes sighed, both in defeat and relief. He dug around in the satchel Watson had packed for her. He retrieved Lucy and Lisa. "She might want these, if she becomes fretful."

Miss Swinton took them wordlessly, and nodded. She seemed to really understand. Holmes glanced at Sophie once more, but she was laughing with the other children, a drop of paint on her nose.

* * *

"So how was it?" Watson asked, looking over his paper when Holmes re-entered the room.

"Horrible," Holmes said, collapsing into his own chair. "Mrs. Swinton carried around a whip. She had the children chained together at the ankles. It was cold and smelled of death. Sophie latched onto me and wept, 'Daddy, Daddy' and I said, 'I'm sorry, my darling, but Watson made me do it'."

Watson raised a brow. "Mmhmm. Well-" he snapped his paper shut and stood up. "When I pick her up, I'll take all of the blame for her heart break." He moved over to Holmes and kissed him on the temple.

* * *

Despite Holmes being sore over Sophie's three-hour absence, he allowed Watson to talk him into an afternoon quickie before she had to be retrieved.

Sweaty, naked, the sheets and comforter balled up half on the bed, half on the floor, they panted. Watson turned to Holmes, a triumphant grin spread across his face.

"I could get used to this..." Holmes said neutrally. "Two days a week."

* * *

"She was wonderful!" Miss Swinton said when the doctor arrived to pick her up. "She behaved, she played, she sang, and she's very smart."

"Yes, she is," Watson agreed, eyeing Sophie, who was playing dress-up with some recycled dresses, shoes, and hats. "So she wasn't any trouble then?"

"Well, there was one thing that puzzled me," Miss Swinton said, motioning for him to move aside. She moved closer. "Sophie is very talkative, and I caught her in a somewhat..._creative_ little story."

Watson raised his eyebrows. Miss Swinton hesitated. "What is it?" he asked.

"Sophie told me, while two of my boys were wrestling, that you and Mr. Holmes...well, fight, and then she said you sometimes throw things at one another, and then she said that you two..." she lowered her voice. "_Kiss_."

Watson sighed, moving his eyes to Sophie. He then turned back to Miss Swinton. "She told you that?"

Miss Swinton waved the idea dismissively and laughed. "Oh, Doctor, please! Children can spin some pretty strange tales at this age-I've heard them all."

Watson laughed too, but nervously. He glanced at Sophie again, who was showing off Lisa and Lucy to the other children. "We've, uh, heard some pretty wild ones ourselves," he said, clearing his throat.

Miss Swinton continued to laugh, patting his shoulder. "She said you all share the same bed!"

Watson forced another laugh. "That's our...little girl...!"

The woman wiped away a few tears. "Oh my..." she said. "To be young and imaginative." She sighed, turning back to look at the children. "Can you imagine, though? _Those_ kind of people, raising a child?"

"Her mother's going to find it hysterical," Watson muttered. "And, um...no, can't imagine at all."

* * *

"Daddy!" Sophie flew up the stairs and threw open the door. "Daddy!"

"Hello." Holmes knelt down and allowed her to smash into his torso. "I painted, and I played with Margaret and Sarah and Daniel, and I played on a piano, and I got to sing."

Watson stood in the doorway, and Holmes noticed something about his face wasn't right. He patted Sophie and said, "Run along downstairs and tell Nanny. Have her help you wash up for supper."

When she was out of the room, he stood up and stared back at the doctor. Watson sighed, somewhat angrily, and stalked across the room, resting his hands on the windowsill. Holmes watched him silently.

"Do you think we're bad parents?" He asked.

Holmes shrugged. "Not all the time."

Watson stared up at the ceiling, biting his bottom lip. He said, "Sophie talked about us, I mean..." he gestured with his hands. "About _us_."

Holmes moved beside him. "Ah."

"I mean, she doesn't understand it's wrong," Watson snorted a little, looking at him. "And, you know, hell, it _shouldn't_ be wrong. We're decent parents."

"No, it shouldn't," Holmes agreed. "You don't have to be smart to exist, Watson. Just breathe oxygen."

"How will she grow up normally, though?" The doctor asked. "She's going to mature, Holmes, and what will she think of her life then? Of us?"

"She'll know that we loved her, and cared for her, and taught her right from wrong," the detective replied simply. "Watson, nothing changes, unless somebody steps forward and puts forth that change."

Watson half-smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Yes, and who ultimately suffers? Their daughter." He moved away, massaging his eyes. "This worries me, Holmes."

"Mrs. Hudson doesn't care," the detective shrugged, looking away. "The morning she caught us, she simply asked for the rent and told us to hold it down in the future."

Watson chuckled. Holmes smiled a little, loving that chuckle. He moved behind him, wrapping his arms around him, leaning into his back. "Nobody likes me," he said, closing his eyes and sighing. "I'm a lunatic, Watson, but it doesn't matter because I have you, and Sophie, and that's all that matters to me."

"So you think Sophie won't mind?" Watson turned his head to kiss him the best he could, getting part of his cheek and some of his nose.

As if on cue, the little girl raced back into the room and hugged both of them. "Clean hands!"

"I don't think so," Holmes whispered, smiling.

**Author's note:** Okay, historical inaccuracies through the roof, I know. I'm sure in no form or fashion did a play group exsist, but hey, Mrs. Swinton needed money, Holmes and Watson needed a sitter. It works. Thanks for all of the wonderful feedback. I know most of you are just waiting on the chapters where Sophie hits puberty and Daddy and Papa have to start chasing the boys away, but be patient. Enjoy her while she's little.

To Be Continued...


	5. Year 6

**Chapter Five: Year Six**

"Sophie." Holmes re-entered the room and frowned at the little girl sitting on the tabletop, twirling her hair. "I'm not going to tell you again. Go get dressed."

Sophie slid off of the table and said, "I don't want to go." She did as she was told, but Holmes soon heard her start to whine from her bedroom, and she returned a short time later, the buttons mismatched on the front of her dress.

"Allow me to help," he said, motioning for her to come closer.

"No, I can do it," she scowled, working on the buttons.

"Sophie, we really must be going-"

"Let me do it!" She whined louder, taking a step back, clutching her buttons possessively.

Watson had been gone for three weeks, tending to a patient who needed around-the-clock care, and Holmes had never been so happy for his return. He wasn't even going to wait for him to come home. They were going to meet him at the train station. He fidgeted, looking around as he waited impatiently for Sophie to fix her clothes.

"I can't do it," she said, her hands falling to her side.

Holmes fought the urge to roll his eyes and moved towards her, kneeling down and taking his fingers to the buttons before she could pull away. He fixed them squickly, smoothed out her dress, and tugged at her hand. "Off we go."

"Where has Papa been?" She asked as they walked out the front door.

"Not here, that's for certain." He didn't mean to be sarcastic and snappy, not with Sophie, but it was the first time he'd ever been alone with for her so long, and he realized just how difficult it was being a single parent. He could only imagine how Irene did it for weeks at a time.

He hailed a carriage, and as they waited, a woman with a little boy walked past them. They stopped, and the woman smiled. "Mr. Holmes."

"Hello, Darlene," he smiled briefly, watching the street. It was a mother from the play group. A single mother. He wondered how she did it.

"Daniel, say hello," Darlene prodded her little boy. "Look, there's Sophie."

"Hello, Daniel," Sophie said, smiling a little.

"Hello, Sophie," Daniel muttered back.

"How is the doctor?" Darlene asked. "He hasn't dropped off or picked up Sophie from Mrs. Swinton's in a while."

"Away on business," Holmes said quickly. "We're going to pick him up at the train station."

"It's lovely that your brother-in-law works so hard to help you," she smiled. It was the story they had concocted after everyone began to see just who was in Sophie's life. A gigantic fib about Holmes being a widower, and his late wife's brother moving in to help him raise the child.

"Yes." Holmes smiled, but only Watson and Sophie would be able to tell it was an icy one.

Darlene sighed. "I wish I had help. It's terribly difficult working to support and raise a child." She patted Daniel on the head and drew him closer to her side.

"Mummy." Daniel pushed away, turning red. He looked at Sophie.

"Sorry, Dear," she said. She turned back to Holmes. "I know this is going to sound a bit silly, but I was wondering, this weekend-Daniel's grandmother is coming into town. She wants to spend some quality time with him. Would you like to join me for dinner sometime then?" She faltered. "Single parent...to single parent..."

Sophie raised her gaze towards him. She'd never been instructed to do so, but was smart enough now to know what stayed at home and what could be made public.

"Dinner?" Holmes cleared his throat.

"I'm just so tired of never being able to interact with othe adults," Darlene said sadly. She obviously could sense the awkward vibes her request had given off. "Except for at work, and I can't relate to those I work for."

Holmes filled his cheeks with air and let it out slowly. "Dinner sounds fabulous," he said.

"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "I mean, I don't want to bother you."

A carriage pulled up and prodding Sophie inside, Holmes said, "I'll talk to you tomorrow at Mrs. Swinton's."

* * *

"Papa's not going to like that," Sophie said, scowling.

"I'm not having dinner with her like _that_," Holmes explained, chuckling and shaking his head.

Sophie didn't laugh. She only leaned back in her seat and stared out the window. Holmes looked out the window too. "Are you going to pout like this the entire way?"

"Are you going to pick up more women?" It did not sound like a six-year old's retort at all, and the detective actually had to keep his jaw from dropping.

He laughed a little. " 'Pick up more women'? Sophie, she was asking because she wants to talk about you and Daniel."

"She wants to talk about you and her and marriage and having a baby!" Sophie scowled. "I hear her talk to Mrs. Swinton about it all the time."

Holmes' brows furrowed. "They talk about me?"

"All the mothers do," Sophie explained, her voice still bitter. "They always say 'Oh, that Mr. Holmes makes me fan myself' and, 'Darlene, you should really hook that one because you two would have a beautiful baby', and 'I love to watch him turn around'."

Holmes tried to not to smile smugly. He cleared his throat and looked serious. "Don't worry, Darling. I'm not going to marry Daniel's mother."

"You can't." Sophie frowned. "Papa will get mad. I'll get mad. And then Daniel will have to be my brother." She paused, and looked up thoughtfully. "Where do babies come from anyway?"

Holmes paled and his eyes widened. "Babies?"

"Yes." Sophie nodded. "How would you and Daniel's mum have a baby anyway? Do you go to a baby store?"

The detective shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Um...babies..."

"Where did I come from?" Sophie's eyes lit up. "Oh wait! Mama said I came from her tummy!" She pointed to her belly. "But how did I get there?"

Holmes made a small noise like he was nausceous and mouthed a foul word. He slid down in his seat. "Perhaps we should wait until we pick up Papa?"

"Oh? Did Papa put me there? In Mama's tummy?"

"NO." It came out more harsh than he meant it. "I mean, no, Dear."

* * *

Sophie seemed to forget about her question entirely when they met Watson at the train station. She flew into his arms and latched onto him like there was no tomorrow. He picked her up and kissed her. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Papa!" She kissed him back. "I leared a new song on the piano."

"I can't wait to hear it." Still holding her, he followed Holmes back to the waiting carriage. Once they were inside, they kissed.

"Papa?" Sophie tugged at his coat. "Did you put me in Mama's tummy?"

"Come again?" Watson was smiling, but his face was littered with confusion.

"Where do babies come from? Daniel's mum said she wants to make a baby with Daddy and-"

"Did she?" Watson stared at Holmes.

The detective shrugged helplessly. "Sophie said the mothers at the play group are fond of me."

"Oh." Watson looked away. "But not me?"

"Babies." Sophie slapped the seat beneath her. "Where do they come from?"

Watson was silent and Holmes stared at him. "You're a doctor. Explain."

"You are right," Watson said. "Babies do come from a mother's tummy."

Sophie smiled. She liked being right. She frowned right after. "How do they get there?"

"Let's tell her a stork," Holmes whispered frantically.

"Holmes, no-"

"A stork, Watson-"

"She needs to know."

"About a stork-"

"Holmes!" Watson covered his mouth and turned to Sophie. "Well, Sophie, you know a lot about nature. We study it. You know that flowers bloom, and trees lose their leaves, and seasons change..." he scratched his head. "People are born, people die..."

"And it rains," Sophie pointed out.

"And it rains, and that makes plants grow," Watson nodded. "Well...nature works with us too, with people. And the way people are made..."

"Stork," Holmes mouthed.

"A man and a woman...well, they decide they want a baby."

"Not always," Holmes said raising his eyebrows. "Sometimes a woman will decide to intoxicate a man and then she'll-"

"When she's older, Holmes." Watson frowned. To Sophie, he continued. "Well, a man and a woman-when they decide to make a baby, they _touch_ each other in a very special way."

"Like a hug?" Sophie asked.

"Mm..." Watson waved his hand in a so-so fashion. "You don't need to know right now. When you're a bit older." He smiled.

"Do you and Daddy touch each other in a special way?" Sophie asked, looking between them.

"Very special," Holmes said quietly, trying not to smirk as he glanced at Watson.

* * *

"You're going to dinner with Darlene Krupnik?" Watson asked when Holmes told him later that night.

"I couldn't very well say no," the detective argued weakly. "And she put me on this odd guilt trip..."

"Holmes, she's coming onto you," The doctor sighed and groaned at the same time. "You can't give her that window of oppertunity."

"Come with us," the other man shrugged.

"Yes, it won't be suspicious at all," Watson said sarcastically. "Go to your dinner, have a good time, and try not to return with a ring on your finger." He moved to the bed bitterly.

"Well, there goes our plans of running away to Aruba," Holmes said, moving to the bed as well. "I already had it planned out. We were going to spill out or darkest secrets in the resstaurant, and then, in tears and anger, we were going to take our newfound revelation outside under the stars. In a heat of passion, I rip open her bodice, devouring her mouth hungrily. She claws at my back, she thinks of what she's yearned for-"

Watson shook his head, smiling. "Get in bed, you bastard."

Holmes slid in next to him. "So you're not upset?"

"No." Watson sighed. "I guess it can only improve our image." A new thought crossed his mind. "Do you think we explained it to Sophie correctly?"

"Well, I still think we should have used the stork persona," Holmes replied. "But yes, I think you did a decent job. "

"Well, Sophie's not wanting all of the technical information," Watson said. "She just wants the basic facts."

"She's little," Holmes agreed, nodding a little.

"So..." Watson rolled over to face him. He began stroking his bare chest with his index finger. "Is my touch really that special?"

Holmes started to speak, but it came out as a groan as Watson's hand moved lower and lower, finally disappearing under the covers. The detective squirmed, closing his eyes. "Yes," he whispered.

* * *

"My mum is going to dinner with your dad," Daniel said as he and Sophie drew pictures at one of the little tables. "Didn't you say your dad is in love with your other dad?"

"Don't say that too loud," Sophie growled, her eyes widening. "I only told you."

"Sorry." Daniel went back to his picture. "I wouldn't want your dad as my dad anyway."

"Why not?"

"Well, I've never had one." Daniel shrugged thoughtfully. "And I like having Mummy to my myself."

"I like having mine to myself too," Sophie said. She scribbled away. "I'm going to visit her next week."

"Does your mummy know that your dad is in love with your other dad?" The little boy asked.

Sophie nodded. "She said love is love. She said people in the world are too scared of what they don't understand, but I should never fear the unknown." She held her head proudly. "I'm not even scared of mice."

"Me neither." Daniel's brows furrowed, as if she'd accused him of doing so. "Or spiders, or snakes."

"I am scared of spiders," Sophie admitted. "One time one crawled down my nightgown. I screamed and cried."

Daniel scratched his head through his mop of unruly black hair. "It didn't tickle?"

"Not in a fun way,"Sophie replied. She looked at his drawing. "Who is that?"

"My dad," he said.

"I thought you didn't have one."

"Not a real one," Daniel shrugged. "But I have a pretend one. Mummy says it's okay to pretend. In my pretend world, he's a soldier."

"Papa used to be a soldier," Sophie said. "That's why he has a cane. Sometimes he makes me laugh because he talks like one."

"How come you get to have a mum and two dads?" Daniel sounded a little jealous. "And a nanny, and a dog."

"I don't know." Sophie pointed to her drawing. "That's a rose bush. Nanny said we're going to plant some soon."

"That's girlish," Daniel said, making a face.

"They have thorns," Sophie said hopefully, not wanting to sound too girlish around her best friend. "And bees."

Sarah and Franchesca approached the table. They were grinning. "Sophie, is Daniel your love?" They fell into a fit of giggles.

"No," Sophie said. "He's my friend."

"He's your suitor!" Franchesca snorted. "Danny and Sophie sitting in a tree-"

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G," Sarah finished.

"She's a girl." Daniel frowned.

"Your girl?" Sarah giggled.

"Mrs. Swinton!" Daniel raised his voice.

"No." Sophie covered his mouth the same way she'd seen Papa to do to Daddy. "Sarah, Franchesca, do you want to color with us?"

The girls seemed confused. "With you and your love?"

Sophie glanced at Daniel. He wasn't ugly, though she had never really thought of him in any physical sense. They spent a lot of time together, they shared secrets...Daddy and Papa were happy that way.

"Yes." She nodded. "Daniel is my love. When I'm older he's going to touch me in a very special way."

* * *

"She said what?" Holmes asked when he picked Sophie up.

"That's what she said," Mrs. Swinton replied, looking at the little girl. She smiled, her eyes crinkling. "Children at this age are so amusing."

When they left, Holmes looked down at the little girl holding his hand. "So Daniel..." he began, staring ahead.

"He's my love," Sophie said boldly.

"Is he?"

"I tell him all of my secrets, and he tells me mine, and his mum says he's a handsome boy." She looked up at him. "Is he handsome?"

"Not handsome enough for you," the detective replied. "No boy will ever be."

To Be Continued....

**Author's note:** Ah, the birds and the bees. So the suitor business has begun. Sophie has found herself a man. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	6. Year 7

**Chapter Six: Year Seven**

"How did she do today?" Watson asked Miss Bage, the tutor.

"She did very well," the young woman, barely out of school, replied. "She's as smart as a whip, and very atttentive." She dug around in a folder marked with Sophie's name. "I actually would like to speak with you and Mr. Holmes about something in private."

The doctor nodded. "Alright." He hesitated slightly. "Is it something..."

"Nothing bad," Miss. Bage replied. "In fact, it's good." She handed him a paper. "I think Sophie is gifted." She pointed to the sheet. "I asked her to write a short story about her favorite holiday-" she grinned. "Turns out it's her birthday."

Watson smiled too, scanning it quickly. He didn't admit he wasn't comprehending the gifted part. It looked just like all of the other stories she scribbled down and left around the house.

"Sophie has a large vocabulary," Miss Bage said, pointing to one of the words. "You see, here she wrote, _I anticipate my birthday party_. Her grammar is better than that of a seven-year old."

"Well," Watson read the rest of the few short paragraphs and handed it back. "She is bright."

"It's not just that, Dr. Watson." The young woman shook her head. "She has a sense of humor, she can appreciate wit. She understands sarcasm and satire to a small degree." She tapped the folder against her free arm. "She thinks abstractly, she can perform mathematical calculations in her head..."

"You're making this sound like it's a bad thing." The doctor's brows furrowed. "I...I don't understand."

"It's not a bad thing, at all." Miss Bage set the folder down on a nearby table. "If there is anything negative about the situation, it's that Sophie may have a difficult time keeping friends. She may start to prefer the company of adults."

"What should we do?" Watson asked.

"You should nurture her talent, her gifts." The tutor picked up the folder. "And you should remember that she is still just a little girl, even when she doesn't act like one." She started to move for the stairs, but stopped, and paused thoughtfully. "Doctor, I forgot to mention-Sophie has a sharp eye for detail. She knew my age, social status, and personality before I even said 'hello' to her."

The doctor nodded. "I hope she wasn't too blunt."

"I think we're going to get along just fine," Miss Bage smiled. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

"I don't like the dark," Sophie frowned after she was tucked into bed.

Holmes and Watson looked at each other, and then back at her. Holmes asked, "What's got you afraid of the dark all of a sudden?"

Sophie shrugged, pulling Lucy close to her. "I can't see."

"Well your eyes are supposed to be close." The detective leaned down and kissed her. "You're not supposed to see."

"Can I have a light?" She asked, sitting up on her elbows. "Could you leave my lamp on?"

Holmes looked at Watson and the doctor shrugged. He moved across the room to turn the lamp back on. He then went back to the bed and sat down, smoothing out the little girl's covers.

"You know," he said. "Miss Bage told me today that you're very smart."

"She's very pretty," Sophie said. "but she's sad. She cries a lot."

"Does she?" The doctor asked. He smoothed out the covers some more. "How do you know?"

"People with green eyes," the little girl explained. "Their eyes look greener after they've cried." She put her head back on the pillow. "I hope she doesn't cry so much anymore."

Holmes stared into space for a moment and said, "Sophie, dear, close your eyes for a moment."

The little girl did so. She smiled and pretended to start snoring. Holmes asked, "Without opening your eyes, how many red items are in this room?"

"Red?" Sophie kept her eyes closed. "Twelve."

"Twelve?" Watson looked around and began counting, pointing at each crimson piece that crossed his gaze.

"Lucy's bow is red, the roof on my dollhouse is red, I have two pairs of red stockings in the dresser, I have a red dress in wardrobe, the trim on my window is red, I have a red ball in the toychest, there's a red crayon in my art supply box, a red jar of paint in there too, the nose on my teddy is red, his bow as well, and there's a red flower on my lady hat." She opened her eyes. "Twelve."

* * *

"That's amazing," Watson breathed as they left her room. "Bloody amazing. Holmes, she could be the next _you_."

"Let's hope not," the detective said dryly. They moved to their own room and Watson stopped at the threshold, still in awe.

"I mean, honestly, she's seven years old and she knew every bit of red in that room. Her memory is brilliant." He smiled. "She truly is the smartest girl in the world."

"Of course she is." The detective moved to his chair and picked up his violin. "She's ours, isn't she?"

* * *

"I don't understand, Doctor," the patient said. "How do you stay so young? It seems like I can't stop aging, and everytime I come to you about it, you look as young and fit as ever."

"Do I?" Watson grinned, returning things back to his medical bag. "Must be a good diet."

"Please!" The patient scoffed, laughing. He stared at Watson's backside. "It's a good marriage, that's what it is. I can tell! They say if you manage to stay in love, have a good life, you feel younger." He sighed. "It's my wife and son that are causing my early decay."

"Your wife is darling," Watson said, turning back slightly.

"You have any children, Doctor?" The other man asked.

"A daughter."

"How old?"

"She just turned seven."

"And you still look so young? She must be a good one."

"Yes."

* * *

"Mama!" Sophie, who could now stand on her tip-toes and open the chainlock, did so when she heard the first rap on the door. She ripped the door open, and her smile faded.

"Hello, Sophie!" It was Lestrade.

"Hello." Sophie stepped aside, still frowing, and let him in, closing the door behind him.

The inspector looked around. "Where's Mr. Holmes?"

"Daddy!" The little girl cried, making the man jump a little. "Daddy!"

Holmes came down the stairs, frantic and a little disoriented. He was holding a sheet of burned paper between a pair of tweezers. Sophie looked at him.

"You have company," she said, staring at Lestrade.

The two men began to speak about a case, background noise as far as Sophie was concerned. She'd always heard these conversations, and they'd never phased her. She sauntered upstairs, lazily trailing her hand along the banister as she went, and went to her parents' room. Watson was out tending to a patient, which she was just a little sore about. She wouldn't see him until she returned from visiting Irene.

"Gladstone." She smiled, her gaze falling to the old dog lying in a patch of sunlight by the window. She moved over to him and squatted down, scratching his back roughly. Normally, he would start kicking one of his back legs, but he didn't move.

"Good boy." She tried again. Nothing. Her brows furrowed. "Gladstone?" She craned her neck and cocked her head to peer at his face. A thick puddle of froth had formed by his mouth. She shook him gently. "Gladstone, wake up."

* * *

Holmes and Lestrade both turned their heads, hearing the little girl began to wail, and Holmes was already halfway up the staircase when she crashed into him, sobbing. He put an arm on her and looked behind her. "What's wrong?"

"Gladstone's not moving," she squeaked, wiping her face. "I think he's dead."

Lestrade paled and moved to take his hat and coat. "I'll get back to you," he said hurriedly, moving towards the door. "Good afternoon, Holmes."

* * *

Sophie watched intently as her father took a wet cloth and wiped the drool from the dog's lips. He then emptied a carton that collected dust in one of the messy corners of the room, and looked around for something else.

"What are you looking for, Daddy?" Sophie sniffed, her eyes following his.

The detective rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "A blanket."

She left the room, and returned with one of her tag-along blankets, the little ones-the baby ones- her mother had packed with her years ago. It was worn, and the ends were frayed. She handed it to him. The detective looked at it, and then knelt down, rolling the dog over. He wrapped the blanket around him, tucking away the ends. He then lifted the bundle and carefully placed it into the carton. Sophie's bottom lip trembled.

"Will that keep him warm?" She asked worriedly, peering into the box.

"...Yes, Dear..." Holmes finally said, also staring into the box.

"Was he old?" The little girl touched his arm.

"Very old." The detective pulled her against him with one arm and kissed her face. "Nearly a hundred and twenty, in dog years."

"Are you going to miss him?" She started to cry again.

Holmes sighed. "He was a good dog."

"He sometimes slept on my bed," Sophie said. "And he liked me to scratch his back."

"It's good to remember those things," the detective told her. He rubbed her back. "Think you'll be alright?"

She nodded, and wiped at her eyes again. "Papa's going to be so sad."

Holmes couldn't help but smile a little. He had to lower his head, so she couldn't see him. When he raised it, he looked serious again. "Papa has been through this more times than you could ever imagine. He'll be sad, but he understands."

Sophie sniffled. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

"You're going with Mama," he reminded her.

"Not today. I'm going to tell her I can't." She started to cry once more. "Not today."

Holmes pulled her against him as she wept, and he suddenly discovered something about life and death. Many times he'd come close to death, practically on the grim reaper's door step. Sometimes by accident-an injury perhaps, but others, self-induced sickness. Needles, liquids...each time, Watson had become angry, disgusted even, and the detective had never truly understood why. Death was simply a part of life. Now he knew why the doctor had been upset.

Holding Sophie, touching her, hearing her, seeing her, smelling her...he knew just how precious life was, and how frightening death could be when life was so much more than just time and space.

* * *

After Sophie fell asleep, and had been moved back to her own bed, Holmes jumped Watson like there was no tomorrow, tearing off the doctor's clothes, almost losing his balance as they both staggered backwards towards the bed. The doctor pulled away briefly, his eyes full of question. Holmes knelt down, digging under the bed, retrieving the old Morocco case he hadn't touched in several years. Watson watched as the detective opened it and proceeded to break the contents inside, throwing them onto the ground, stomping them under his shoe.

"I've never been more attracted to you in my entire life," the doctor smirked slightly, his voice quiet. He fingered the empty case. "Never."

"Never again." Holmes shrugged, tossing the case onto the floor. "You and Sophie..." he found his way back to Watson's lips, his hands digging around in his hair. "You're too important."

This wasn't just sex. It always meant something, but this meant _something_. It was slow, tender, indulging. It was a million apologies and just as many new beginnings.

To Be Continued... 


	7. Year 8

**Chapter Seven: Year Eight**

"This doesn't look right," Sophie sighed, taking the sheet of paper. She started to crumple it up, and Watson stopped her, leaning over her shoulder.

"It's alright," he said patiently. "Just try it again."

"Why can't I make it look like yours?" The eight-year old asked, frowning. Once again, she took her pencil and carefully wrote her name in cursive.

Watson nodded in approval. "That's very good," he said.

"It doesn't look like yours," Sophie pouted.

"Darling, you only just started," the doctor chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "I've done it for ages."

Sophie removed herself from her desk and neatly stacked her papers. "When is Daddy coming home?"

"He shouldn't be too much longer," Watson said, retrieving his pocket watch. "He went to visit the inspector a few hours ago." He tucked it back into his pocket.

Sophie picked up a sheet of paper from the floor. "Look at Daddy's cursive," she said, frowning. "Mine doesn't look like his either."

The doctor chuckled. "_Nobody's _looks like his."

The little girl smiled and moved over to Watson, climbing into his lap as he sat down in his chair. "Papa, that's mean."

"Don't tell him," Watson whispered, and they both laughed.

* * *

"I really can't thank you enough for watching Daniel for me," Darlene said, glancing back at the waiting carriage. "My mother-she's very ill, and I'd hate for Daniel to miss his lessons or break routine-"

"It's really not a problem," Watson reassured her, smiling softly. "Daniel will be fine. He'll have a good time."

Darlene sighed, staring down at her son. She smiled sadly. "In eight years, I've never spent a night away from him." She knelt to kiss him, smoothing out some of his hair. "Behave yourself while I'm gone."

"Yes, Ma'am," Daniel said, hugging her. He seemed reluctant to let go.

Darlene walked out the door, closing it behind her. Sophie pointed to the stairs. "Would you like to see my room?"

Daniel blinked back tears, still staring at the door. Watson placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be alright," he told him as the boy started to cry. "She'll only be gone for a few days."

"I have a guinea pig," Sophie added hopefully. "His name is Coodles."

"What's a guinea pig?" Daniel sniffled.

Sophie grinned, moving towards the stairs. "Come and see."

Daniel followed her up the stairs and stood in her doorway, intaking the sight before him. Her walls and ceiling were bright pink, and foil stars and ribbon rained from the ceiling. Near her window, a crystal prism chime captured light, making the opposite wall rock back and forth with an array of colors. She had a desk littered with paper, a large bed littered with dolls, and an old dresser that had a cage on top. Sophie skipped over to it. "Coodles!"

Daniel made his way over and peered into the cage. Coodles was black and white, and incredibly noisy. Sophie turned to the doorway and called, "Papa? Can we hold Coodles?"

She didn't wait for an answer and opened the cage, taking the plump little rodent into her arms. It wriggled and cried.

"You can pet him," Sophie offered. "He doesn't bite."

Daniel brushed his fingertips along its head. "Where did you get him?"

"Papa brought him home," Sophie said. "He said a man from the mountains was selling a lot of them."

"How come your room looks like this?" Daniel asked.

"Like what?" Sophie returned Coodles to his cage.

Daniel pointed. "Like those stars up there," he explained. "Why are they there?"

"India," Sophie said simply. "Papa said you can see every star in the sky at night there." She glanced at her ceiling. "He said we're going to go there someday so I can see them."

"And what about that?" Daniel pointed to a trunk at the foot of her bed. "What's in there?"

"My dress-up clothes." Sophie walked over to her bed and opened it. "Nanny brings them for me and I play dress-up." She put a tophat on her head that fell just below her eyes.

"What do you dress up like?" Daniel's brows furrowed in confusion.

Sophie shrugged. "Whatever I feel like." She tipped her hat a little. "Like right now, I'm a magician, and I'm going to make you disappear."

"You're not," Daniel frowned. He continued to venture around her room, picking up random items and inquiring about their origins. He frowned.

"What's wrong?" Sophie closed the trunk.

"You have a lot," Daniel said. "I mean, I have a lot too, but you have fun things."

Holmes appeared in the open doorway and knocked on the doorframe. Sophie grinned and rushed over to give him a hug. "Daddy!"

From his cage, Coodles squealed. Daniel stood silently.

"Papa and I may have to go out for a case tonight," the detective said.

Sophie groaned. "Again?"

"Nanny said she's baking a cake," Holmes offered hopefully.

The girl lowered her head against his torso, moaning. Holmes absent-mindedly tickled her sides, and she pulled away, laughing and squealing.

"Daddy!" She giggled. "That was sneaky!"

"You ultimately left yourself open," he replied, trying not to smile. He picked her up and she squealed again as he turned her upside down, tickling her some more.

"Daddy!" She laughed. "Daddy, stop it!"

Holmes set her down. "So, is it a deal then?" He held out his hand.

"Promise you'll be back before I wake up?" Sophie stared at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Promise."

"Deal." She shook his hand.

* * *

"I actually do have a father," Daniel said as he and Sophie colored on her floor.

"You do?" Sophie looked at him. "Why aren't you staying with him then?"

"He's a sailor," Daniel said. "So he's out to sea a lot."

Sophie frowned skeptically. "I've never seen him."

"I have." Daniel sounded defensive. "And he's really...fun....and he plays with me...and he picks me up and holds me upside down..."

Sophie went back to coloring. "Daddy and Papa do that."

"Yes, but mine is better." Daniel raised his eyes and Sophie met his gaze.

She stopped coloring. "No."

"Yes." He nodded. "He even lets me go out on the ocean with him sometimes. And we look at stars from the boat."

"That doesn't make him better," Sophie countered, still frowning.

"He is better," Daniel muttered, pushing his paper and crayons away.

Sophie pushed hers away too. "If he's so much better, how come nobody's ever seen him but you? Does he just get off his boat, grab you, and then throw back on land when he leaves?"

"Don't talk about him like that!" Daniel stood up.

"You don't have one," Sophie frowned, shaking her head. "You're making it up."

"I'm not!" Daniel fumed.

"Quit saying he's better then!" Sophie stood up too. "This is my house."

The boy blew up. "HE IS BETTER!!!! And...you're room is ugly! And your guinea pig is ugly! And you think you're so special because you have all these nice things and you have two fathers, and a nanny, and mum!"

Mrs. Hudson obviously heard the commotion because she was up the stairs and in the room in a flash. Sophie and Daniel were screaming and pushing one another. Both had tears streaming down their face. She came between them, ordering for them to stop.

* * *

Daniel was asleep in one of the guestrooms, but Sophie lay awake in bed, listening for the front door. When she heard it open, she flew out of bed and down the stairs, straight into Holmes. Sobbing, she told him about her evening spat with her friend, her words so fast and angry they were almost incoherent. Holmes and Watson glanced at each other as she spoke.

"Sophie-" Watson placed a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't we go upstairs and talk about this?" He picked her up and she cried on his shoulder.

* * *

Once upstairs, in their room, Sophie sat on Watson's lap and started over, speaking more slowly and crying less. Holmes and Watson listened.

"I want him to leave," Sophie sniffed angrily. "He had no reason to get angry with me for having a nice room."

"I don't think it was the nice room that made him angry," the doctor told her quietly. "And I really don't think he was angry either."

"_Jealous_," Holmes agreed.

" 'Jealous'?" Sophie repeated. "Why would he be jealous? My room is pink."

Holmes and Watson chuckled.

"He's not jealous of your room, Darling," the doctor explained. "He's jealous of _you._ I think you're right-I don't think Daniel has a father."

"But he has a mother," Sophie pointed out. "He lives with her, and I'm not jealous of _that_."

"Daniel's mother works very, very hard to support their little family," Watson said. "I'm not so sure Daniel gets to see her as much as you get to see us and even Mama sometimes."

"But still," Sophie sighed, leaning against him. "Why would he get angry and start yelling like that? Daniel's never done that before."

"He's in an unfamilar place," Holmes shrugged. "Unfamilar people, he's out of sorts."

"Oh." Sophie nodded. "I guess I'm not upset with him anymore then."

"That's good," Watson nodded too. "Very mature on your part."

"How is the case going?" She asked.

"It's..._going_..." Holmes sighed. He patted his knee. "Stop giving Papa all of your attention. Come on then."

Sophie smiled and moved to the other chair. She took his hands in hers, patting them firmly. "_Don't_ tickle me."

Holmes kissed her. "Sophie, dear, you really need to gain some weight. You're as light as a feather."

Watson smiled. "Yes, if she turns sideways, she disappears."

"Papa!" Sophie gasped, but smiled anyway. "I am not that skinny."

"Skinny-minnie," Holmes said, poking her stomach. "We must fatten you up or you'll blow away come winter."

"I will not."

"Even that wretched guinea pig weighs more than you."

"Coodles, Daddy. His name is Coodles."

* * *

"I'm sorry about last night," Daniel said over breakfast the following morning.

Sophie chewed her toast and glanced at Holmes and then Watson. "It's alright," she said. "I guess I'm a bit jealous of your father."

"Really?" Daniel's eyes lit up.

"Mmhmm." Sophie continued to eat. "He sounds really nice."

Holmes cleared his throat and Watson rattled his morning paper. Daniel and Sophie didn't see them smile.

To Be Continued....

**Author's note: **Ah, it's great to be eight, isn't it? I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter is year nine. And then double digits! OMG!


	8. Year 9

**Chapter Eight: Year Nine  
**

"And then you measure the flour," Mrs. Hudson coaxed. "Oh, oh, oh! That's good, Sophie."

The nine-year old, standing beside the landlady, assisted by a foot-stool, smiled, her face dusted with flour and other various baking ingridients.

"Thank you for letting me cook dinner with you," she said, remembering her manners. She often helped in the kitchen, but her parents-all three of them- always reminded her to say thank you.

"Thank_ you_," Mrs. Hudson said, smiling too. "It's nice to cook side by side, isn't it? Just us ladies."

"Just us ladies," Sophie agreed, nodding. She turned her head to look at the oven. "When will everything be ready?"

The landlady glanced at the clock on the wall. "Mm...I'd say in an hour or so." She passed Sophie a bowl. "Busy yourself-stir this."

Sophie stirred. "I learned a new song today," she said. "Miss Bage taught it to me."

"Really?" Mrs. Hudson mixed ingridents together. Her brows furrowed slightly. "How is she, by the way? I recall that she was absent a week or so."

"She had to visit her sister," Sophie said. "Miss Bage has a twin sister, and her twin sister has a little girl and a little boy, but their father ran away, so the twin sister has to take care of them by herself."

"That's a shame," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "A real shame."

"Miss Bage gives her sister money," Sophie said. "She told me she wants her sister to move here, and live with her, but she won't."

"Pride," Mrs. Hudson explained simply. "Some people can't swallow it."

Sophie stopped stirring. "What is pride, exactly? I mean, I know what it means...sort of...but not really..."

"It's respect for yourself and all of your choices," the landlady said, passing Sophie another bowl to stir. "It's a good thing to have, it really is, but sometimes it's alright to let people know you need help, or that you're wrong."

Sophie nodded, and started stirring again. "Nanny?"

"Yes, Dear?"

"Do you have a lot of pride?" She looked at her.

"I take pride in many things, yes," the landlady said. "Do you?"

"Yes." Sophie nodded again. "But I think I'm like Miss Bage's sister sometimes. I don't like to be told I'm wrong or that I've made the wrong choices." She frowned. "I guess I should work on that."

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Oh, Sophie." She reached over to dust some flour from the girl's face. "It's not the same, Darling."

* * *

Sophie stared at the dining room clock. The same way she'd been doing for the past two hours. Mrs. Hudson entered the room, glanced at the clock, and sighed slightly.

"Sophie, why don't you go ahead and eat?" She suggested. "I know you've got to be hungry."

"No." Sophie briefly moved her gaze from the clock. "I want to wait on Daddy and Papa."

"They could be very late," Mrs. Hudson warned. "And it will soon be bedtime."

"I told them I was cooking dinner tonight." Sophie considered herself too old to actually whine, but she was very close to it. "Where could they be?"

"The Bosworth case has been a very difficult one for them," the landlady said. "Perhaps it's just keeping them tied up this evening."

Sophie frowned. "May I just wait a little longer?"

"Ten more minutes and then we have to eat and clean up."

* * *

Sophie picked at her food, and assisted Mrs. Hudson in cleaning the kitchen and washing the dishes. She went upstairs, washed up, and changed into her nightgown, frowning as she climbed into bed. She climbed back out, forgetting to brush her teeth, and when she got back into bed, she angrily threw her head back against the pillows. She dug under them, fishing out her old, babyish doll, Lucy. She absent-mindedly stroked the yarn hair, staring up at the stars that dangled from the ceiling.

She waited, and waited, and waited, but the front door never opened. She finally fell asleep.

* * *

She found herself alone in the house the next morning, and still in her night clothes, made herself toast and sat at the table. She didn't touch the bread and pushed it away, drumming her fingers against the tabletop. She heard the front door unlock and open and raced into the parlor.

"Honestly, Doctor, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson clucked as all three of them stepped into the house. "We were worried sick."

Sophie stared at them. They both looked tired, disheveled, their clothes torn, dirt smudged on their faces. They looked at her, but didn't say anything. Mrs. Hudson was still talking, so it's not like they could anyway.

"Arrested!" She said, shaking her head. "Sometimes I think these cases are more trouble than they're worth."

"Hello, Sophie," Holmes finally sighed, looking at his daughter.

She looked between them. Without a word, she went upstairs and shut her bedroom door. It hadn't been thirty minutes when a knock sounded, and Watson opened it a crack, peeking inside before opening the door the rest of the way and stepping inside. Sophie was lying on her bed, holding Lucy.

"I'm really sorry about last night," he said. He was cleaned up now, the way Sophie was used to seeing him-most of the time.

"What were you arrested for?" She asked, not looking at him.

The doctor moved closer to her bed. "Sometimes, in order to do the right thing, you have to do some things that aren't always considered right." He sat down. "But, I know you want details-we broke into a shop to search through a suspect's personal receipts."

Sophie scowled. "You couldn't have waited until the store opened up again?"

"I don't think our suspect would have let us look through his things," Watson said quietly.

"I waited up a long time last night," the girl said. "And I made dinner. Well, I _helped_, but I still worked hard."

The doctor looked as guilty as anything. "I know," he said quietly. "And I'm terribly sorry. I feel awful about it."

"Where's Daddy?" Sophie asked.

"Washing up."

"Does he feel awful too?"

"He wouldn't stop pacing around the cell like a caged tiger," Watson said. "He kept telling me we were going to be in trouble with you."

Sophie tossed Lucy onto the floor. She continued to scowl up at the ceiling. Watson patted her leg. "Are you going to be cross with us all afternoon?"

She shrugged. Watson turned to see Holmes enter the room, his hair still damp. He whistled.

"We're in big trouble, aren't we, old boy?" He asked the doctor, moving closer.

"_Big_ trouble," the doctor agreed. "She's very upset with us and our inconsiderate actions."

"I see," Holmes muttered, looking at Sophie. "And I suppose there's nothing we can do to remedy this unfortunate situation?"

Watson looked at Sophie, and she deliberately looked away. "I'm not sure."

Holmes sat on the other side of her, and Sophie sat up and removed herself from the bed. She frowned at them from the doorway. "Get out of my room."

They didn't want to, they really didn't intend to, but Watson and Holmes busted out laughing at the order. Sophie became angrier. She pointed to the hallway. "LEAVE."

"Sophie-" Holmes cleared his throat, and tried to keep a serious face. He succeeded, to a degree. "Sophie, we are sorry."

"I don't care." Sophie shook her head. "I want you both out."

Watson stood up, tugging at Holmes' arm. "You heard her."

They left.

* * *

Sophie stayed in her room all day, and when evening rolled around, Holmes opened her door. She was at her desk, working on some of her school work Miss Bage had left for her. Holmes leaned against the doorframe.

"Supper time," he said.

Sophie shook her head. "I'm still working."

"Up, Sophie."

"No, Daddy."

The detective moved beside the desk and got to his knees so he was eye-level with her. "There will always be occassions in your life like this. People will let you down, not always intentionally, and your feelings will get hurt."

Sophie looked away, her expression not as angry as before. Holmes brushed some of her hair behind her ears. "Papa and I didn't mean to let you down or hurt your feelings."

The little girl's eyes filled with tears. "That's not why I'm upset."

Holmes cocked his head slightly. "Why are you upset?"

"You were in _jail_," Sophie said, her voice becoming a whisper, but still sounding shocked. "All night."

Holmes looked away briefly. He wondered if he should tell her they'd been in jail many times. He decided not to. Instead, he said, "We were only in jail until Lestrade woke up."

Sophie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She didn't seem to find it as amusing as he did. "I worried all night."

"I apologize." Holmes tugged at her arm and pulled from her chair, into his arms. "I worried all night too."

"About me?"

"About you."

Sophie wrapped her arms around him, kissing his face. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you more." He kissed her back.

* * *

"Well, I did it," Watson said, entering the room.

Sophie and Miss Bage looked up from the desk, and Holmes from his violin. Watson waved a small stack of papers. "I purchased some train tickets to Paris."

Sophie grinned. "We're going to Paris?"

Miss Bage smiled too. "How lovely." She turned to Sophie and pointed to the sheet of math problems in front of her. "Only three more to go and then you're all finished."

"We are in dire need of a vacation," the doctor explained, collapsing in his chair. "Paris sounded nice."

* * *

When she was younger, Sophie hated the train. Even riding with Irene, which made the train rides more routine, she'd hated them.

She loved them now, even the long ones. As they rode, she stared out the window, pointing various things out to the detective and doctor. She noticed Watson checking through one of his notebooks-patient files, she now knew, and her brows furrowed.

"Papa, are we really going to Paris on vacation?" She asked.

Her question seemed to catch him off guard for a moment. "Of course."

"You have a patient in Paris," she said.

Holmes looked at Watson. "Watson!"

The doctor sighed. "I do have a patient I need to see, yes, but it will only take a day, and the rest of the two weeks is solid leisure time."

Sophie and Holmes gave him the exact same look, almost simultaneously, and he laughed nervously. "I'm sorry I didn't mention it ahead of time."

* * *

It didn't turn out to be so bad. The patient, a rich old widow, had lent them her cottage on the outskirts of the city. It was a beautiful cottage, and had a duck pond just behind it, followed by thick woods. The days Watson went out to tend to the lonely Miss Simmons, Sophie and Holmes toured the city. It was not Holmes' first trip to Paris, but he adored Sophie's taking in the newness of it all.

"I wish Papa were with us," Sophie said, licking an icecream cone that was dripping rapidly down her hand. She smiled. "But I like spending time with just you."

Holmes smiled too. "Where shall we venture to next-" he stopped, and quickly pulled Sophie to the far side of the sidewalk, moving behind a small crowd watching a street performer.

"Daddy?" Sophie looked at him, and then craned her neck to see what he was looking at. She tossed the rest of her cone behind her, paper and all.

Across the street, Watson was walking beside a woman, and not an old widow either. They were laughing. Sophie's brows furrowed. "That's Papa."

Holmes didn't say anything. He watched as they stopped, and the woman handed him a small slip of paper. She held his hand for a moment after she gave it to him. Sophie looked at Holmes and tapped his arm. "Daddy, who is that with him?"

"I'm not sure," Holmes said quietly.

"Should we go over there?"

"No." It took him a while to answer her question. He moved back into the crowd, pulling Sophie with him.

They walked in silence, but the silence became unbearable for Sophie. Panic filled her voice. "Daddy, you're worried."

"I'm not."

"You are." She stopped walking. "Papa loves you."

Holmes looked away, and shifted awkwardly. The words weren't all that reassuring coming from a nine-year old daughter. He nodded. "Yes."

* * *

Watson returned to the cottage that night, and Sophie was the only one in the parlor, reading a book. She looked up at him. He smiled.

"Did you have a good day?" He made his way to the plush sofa and sat down beside her, kissing her.

Sophie nodded, closing her book. "Did you?" She kissed him back.

"Not really..." he sighed through his nose, stroking her arm with the back of his fingers.

This was not the lie she'd been expecting. She leaned over to put the book on the floor. "What happened?"

"I shouldn't have fibbed," the doctor smiled. "That's what happened. Turns out old Miss Simmons wasn't the only Miss Simmons that was lonely."

Sophie smiled too, squinting skeptically. "What do you mean?"

"She set me up on an unxpected lunch with her daughter." Watson chuckled, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "We were tricked, Sophie."

" 'Tricked'?" Sophie leaned against him.

Watson lowered his voice. "She thought I was coming here alone." He sighed again. "Looks like our vacation is going to be cut short."

"Quite alright." Holmes entered the room, smiling. He sat on Watson's lap, kissing him. "I don't like this cottage anyway." He turned to Sophie. "Do you, Darling?"

Sophie climbed on top of Holmes, and Watson grunted, shifting himself under all of the weight.

"No, Daddy," Sophie said.

To Be Continued....

**Author's note: **Next year is year ten! Double digits!!!!! Hope you enjoyed this one!


	9. Year 10

**Chapter Nine: Year Ten**

"I wanted to speak with you because I'm concerned about Sophie's behavior issues," the new tutor of three months since Miss Bage had resigned to care for her sister, spoke. Mrs. Gladys Brighton was her name, an older woman, her face younger than her silver hair, but she always had a stern expression, and didn't seem to get excited about anything. Sophie often complained about her, but only good-naturedly, casually.

" 'Behavior issues'?" Watson repeated, looking at Holmes. He looked back at Mrs. Brighton.

"Doctor," the tutor sighed, standing up. "I understand these are Sophia's-"

"Sophie," Holmes automatically corrected.

"Group tutoring sessions," Mrs. Brighton continued. "I tutor a total of eight girls, and not one of them behaves like yours." She moved to a file folder on a nearby table and brought it back to the desk. "She's one of those _feminists_," she said bitterly. "I can already see early signs of it."

"Well, her mother's a raging feminist," Holmes shrugged. He didn't mention that she had drug him and Watson to a couple of the ralleys already. He also didn't mention it was incredibly arousing-all of these women showing off how smart and worthy they were through colorful shouting.

"Her mother?" Mrs. Brighton cocked a brow . "The mother you said was deceased?"

"_Was_," Watson said, frowning at Holmes. "He meant _was_."

"Ah." Mrs. Gladys nodded. "Anyway, a young, attractive girl like Sophia should act like a proper lady. She doesn't fit in with the other girls. They isolate her."

"Bitches," Holmes muttered darkly and Watson scuffed the back of his head.

"Mr. Holmes!" Mrs. Brighton frowned at him, her lips puckered in sour distaste. "These are ten-year old girls!"

"What do you suggest, Mrs. Brighton?" Watson asked, just ready to get up and leave.

"I suggest you find Sophia another tutor," she replied. "If she does not shape up, then I will not teach her. I have other girls to tutor, and she is a distraction."

* * *

"What did she say?" The ten-year old asked from playing the piano when they walked in through the door. Her song was slow and sad. "She hates me."

"Well," Holmes said simply, walking over and kissing the top of her head. "I hate her."

Watson sighed, hanging up his hat and coat. "Sophie, Dear, do you get along with the other girls?"

"I try," Sophie admitted, after being silent for several seconds. She stopped playing, turning herself around on the bench. "They don't really seem to care for me all that much."

The doctor nodded, tongue in cheek. He looked away briefly and then back at the girl. "They just don't want to talk to you?"

"They think I'm weird," Sophie said, staring down at her lap. "And we're not good at the same things. They all know how to sew, and they're good with poetry, and I'm not."

"Yes, but you're excellent in math and science," Holmes said, smiling proudly. He looked over at Watson, the doctor-master of math and science, and was happy that he also smiled.

"Mrs. Gladys said math and science is not a lady's place," Sophie told him, her face sad and confused. "Why not?"

Holmes sat beside her on the bench, pulling her against him. "Because she's a daft cow, and you're not going to her tutoring sessions anymore. We'll find you a new tutor."

Surprisingly, Sophie shook her head. "No, I want to stay."

Holmes looked at her, and Watson moved and sat on the other side of her. "You want to stay?"

"You're both always telling me that you can't run from your problems, and if I just quit and found somebody more tolerable, then..." she stared into space briefly. "I'd just be running, wouldn't I?"

Watson nodded and said quietly, "You have a point."

"Sophie, she'll poison your mind, Love," Holmes coaxed. "She'll give you warts."

Sophie chuckled. "Daddy!"

* * *

"They're not entirely wrong, you know," Irene said as she and Sophie sat in the small cafe, rain pouring outside. "It wouldn't be a bad thing to find a new teacher. Especially if you're wasting your time with this one."

"But, Mum," Sophie fidgeted. "I don't dislike the lessons, not all the time. I just..." she found it hard to explain herself. "I just don't understand why sewing is so important, especially when I've never done it at home, but I do a lot of math, and that's not important."

"We live in a funny world right now, Darling," Irene said. "Believe me, there is nothing more difficult than being different from other people." She smiled. "Do you remember the feminist ralley we went to?"

"I liked it," Sophie grinned. "All of those ladies were very smart, and I can't believe some of them had books published."

Irene nodded, staring off into space. "Sophie, one day, I want to see you all grown up, and not be ashamed of who you are or where you came from."

"I'm not," Sophie said. "I'm really not, Mum."

"I'm glad." Irene reached over and patted her hand. "I really am."

* * *

"That doesn't look right," Elizabeth said, eyeing Sophie's sewing project.

Sophie stared down at it. "No, it doesn't."

Normally, Elizabeth would have sneered and made fun of her, the way she usually did. The way all seven girls did, but she didn't. She smiled a little and asked, "Would you like me to help you?"

"Thank you." Sophie handed it to her. She watched as Elizabeth began to undo the stitching. "You're very good at this."

"I've been sewing since I was very young," Elizabeth said. "My mother is a seamstress." Her hands and fingers worked quickly, almost a blur. "She taught me."

"So you like it then?" Sophie watched her work.

"Yes," Elizabeth shrugged. "I'm good at it." She raised her eyes. "And you like math?"

"I love math," Sophie said, surprised Elizabeth would bring it up. "But it's something I do a lot of at home, kind of like your sewing."

The other girl nodded. She began to re-stich correctly. "Do you like anything else? Besides math?"

"Science," Sophie said. "Philosophy."

"No, I mean, not lessons, just...what do you like?" Elizabeth handed the new project to her. "I love music. I play the harp."

"I play piano," Sophie said, her smile spread across her face. "Music is one of my favorite things in the world."

"And boys?" Elizabeth's smile became more sly. "Do you like boys? My sister is engaged-" her voice lowered. "And her fiancee is so handsome."

"I think boys should be locked up and have keepers," Sophie said, rolling her eyes, and they both laughed. "Boys our age anyway."

They giggled again, and Catherine approached. She looked at Sophie's project. "Did you really do that?"

"No, Elizabeth did it for me," Sophie said, still giggling. "I can't sew to save my life."

"She really can't," Elizabeth said.

Catherine looked between them, and finally settled down at the table with them. She held up her own project. "I'm not very good at sewing either." She made a face. "I hate sewing."

"Her parents own the bakery on Brattle street," Elizabeth explained.

"Yes, but I don't like to bake either," Catherine said. "I hate that too."

"What do you like to do, Catherine?" Sophie asked her.

"Write." Catherine looked around, and then leaned forward. "I have dozens of stories at home. They're about magic and fantasy."

"Like fairytales?" Elizabeth looked at her funny. "We're not babies, Catherine."

"Well, maybe they're for babies to read," Catherine snapped defensively.

"I'd like to read them," Sophie said. "I like fairytales. Especially ones with witches, but not good witches."

Catherine nodded. "Oh, yes. I hate it in a story when there is a good witch."

"I'm having a birthday party next weekend," Elizabeth spoke. "My mother said we'll go out for dinner, and I can have two friends stay the night. She said she'll let us stay up an hour later than usual." She looked at Sophie. "Would you like to come?"

Sophie smiled. "Yes. Thank you."

* * *

"And it will only be for one night, please, Papa, ?" Sophie was hot on the doctor's heels as he moved around the room, collecting papers off the floor.

"Sophie," he said. "I don't know Elizabeth's parents." He picked up a pipe and shook his head, frowning. "I don't know who they are or where they live."

"She lives with her mum, in an apartment somewhere," Sophie said, already having a mental list of answers to possible questions in her head. "Please?"

"Let me talk to Daddy first," Watson finally said. "We'll meet with her mother, and though I'm not saying yes, I'm open to the idea." He moved to his desk and leaned over, sorting through all of the papers.

"It was the gardener," Sophie said.

Watson's brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"The gardener," Sophie said, nodding at the papers. "You and Daddy are still working on the Barnes case, right? The gardener was the one who did it."

"How do you know?" Watson sounded amused.

"Papa," Sophie sounded exasperated. "The body was found in the cellar, blunt trauma to the head. If it had been any of the workers inside of the home like the maid or serving man, they would have stuck him in the tool shed to make it look like the gardener. The gardener did the opposite, sticking him in the cellar."

The doctor started to speak, but Sophie continued. "The gardener also was a chronic drinker, suffered from depression, and had the lowest salary. And it's not coincidental that the Barnes had put an ad in the paper for a new gardener. They suspected him of violence long before."

* * *

"You want to leave us?" Holmes said later that evening, when Sophie asked him.

"It's just for one night, Daddy," she said. "And Elizabeth is really excited. And I don't have any girl friends, just...Daniel..." she made a face.

"I don't see a problem," Watson shrugged. He looked at Holmes.

"I suppose it'll be alright," Holmes agreed reluctantly. "For one night."

Sophie jumped up and down, clapping her hands. She hugged both of them. "Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, Papa!"

* * *

Elizabeth's mother was a portly woman, pink-faced and jolly. She welcomed Watson and Holmes into her crowded apartment and told them how lucky their girls were to be friends. Elizabeth smiled modestly at the attention, and led Sophie into her home. Her mother continued to chat, and Holmes and Watson continued to ask questions.

"We've heard so much about Elizabeth," Watson finally said. "Elizabeth this, Elizabeth that..."

"Papa," Sophie smiled, but her eyes widened pleadingly.

Holmes knelt down and pulled her forward, kissing her and embracing her. "We love you. Be good, and if you're not good, don't get caught."

Elizabeth and her mother laughed. Watson hugged her, still standing, and released her quickly. "We'll pick you up tomorrow at noon." He kissed her.

After they left, Elizabeth's mother hooted. "Some handsome blokes you have as fathers, Miss Sophie!"

"Mum!" Elizabeth's cheeks turned red.

"Really, Mum," an older girl, who looked like Elizabeth in seven years, entered the room. Her dress was shorter than most dresses Sophie had seen, but she guessed this was Elizabeth's sister. "You're going to scare her away."

"My sister, Doris," Elizabeth said. "The one who's engaged."

"And you must be the Sophie we hear too much about," Doris smiled. "You're lovely."

"Thank you," Sophie felt weird being around such a young woman in such a short dress. She suddenly wished she were prettier, and her own dress was shorter.

* * *

Catherine arrived some time later, and Elizabeth's mother ordered a carriage and they left for dinner. Doris went with them, along with her fiancee, who was strikingly handsome, and had voice like silk. Sophie, along with Catherine and Elizabeth, found herself more bubbly and silly than usual. Elizabeth's family seemed unphased.

They returned to the apartment and the girls went straight to Elizabeth's room, giggling about Branwell, the fiancee. Catherine placed her hands in front of her heart. "I wish I were Doris and I was the one to be married to Branwell!"

"I've gone swimming with him," Elizabeth said, lowering her voice. "He didn't even wear a shirt."

"Do you want to be like your sister?" Sophie asked Elizabeth. "She seems so sure of herself, and calm, and always has something witty to say."

"She picks on me," Elizabeth said. "But a lot of people like her. She's always had a lot of friends."

"Does she work?" Catherine asked. "My older sisters do. In the bakery."

"She writes," Elizabeth replied. "She's had a few things published, but under the name Eric Clayton. She says more people read books written by men, so what they don't know won't hurt them."

* * *

"What do you think they're doing?" Holmes asked, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Watson, from his chair where he looked through patient charts, shrugged. "Being little girls I suppose."

"I miss her."

"She'll only be gone for tonight."

"Tell the truth, Watson."

"I miss her more."

* * *

Doris entered Elizabeth's room holding a folded cloth in one hand, and a bowl of ice chips in the other. Catherine clapped her hands, turning to Elizabeth. "So you're really going to do it?"

"Do what?" Sophie asked, eyeing the kit.

"Pierce my ears!" Elizabeth squealed. "Well, Doris is going to do it."

"Will you do mine as well?" Catherine begged.

Doris nodded. She turned to Sophie. "You too?"

Sophie looked at the ice. "Yes..."

Doris smiled and sat down on the floor, preparing the items. Elizabeth whispered something in her ear and Doris laughed. Catherine and Sophie looked at them.

"Tell them!" Elizabeth tugged on her sister's sleeve.

"Are you sure?" Doris raised her eyebrows. She leaned towards the other girls and lowered her voice. "Branwell has his penis pierced."

Catherine squealed and Sophie smiled, her brows furrowed slightly. She leaned over to Catherine. "What's a penis?"

"It's-" Catherine gestured. "But a man's-"

Sophie blushed. "Really?" She turned to Doris. "Did it hurt?"

"He's a tough lad," Doris said, threading some string through a needle. "He can take it." She grinned. "Who's first, Ladies?"

* * *

Watson and Holmes appeared at the apartment and noon sharp. The girls had barely woken up, staying up way past the scheduled bed time. Elizabeth's mother led them in, and Holmes frowned at the sofa. Sitting on it was some young man, a young lady on his lap. They were both only half dressed.

"Hello," Doris said, absent-mindedly, reading from a book that the young man held. "They just woke up."

"Just woke up?" Watson's brows furrowed. "It's noon."

"Oh, Elizabeth doesn't have a weekend schedule, so I let her sleep in," her mother said. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"No...thank you...we were actually getting ready for lunch," the doctor replied. "Is Sophie ready?"

"Doris, will you go and fetch her, Dear?" The mother asked the older daughter.

"Yes." Doris stood up, and moved down the small hallway.

Sophie came out a short while later, dressed and ready to go. Holmes and Watsons' eyes widened. They thanked Elizabeth's mother, said goodbye, and then hurried themselves out the door and down the stairs, to the waiting carriage. They decided that was the right time to explode.

"What is this?" Watson demanded, turning her head with his hand so he could see her ears.

"They're my ears," Sophie said defensively. "Doris did it for me."

Holmes was close to growling. "This is very unsanitary."

"Indeed," Watson mutttered. He looked at Sophie. "Why didn't you tell her no?"

"Catherine and Elizabeth got theirs done too," she argued weakly. "And I think they're pretty." She fingered the small pearls.

Holmes and Watson brooded silently for a moment, and then Watson finally threw his arms out, shaking his head. He turned to Holmes. "The damage is already done, Old boy."

Holmes nodded. He looked at Sophie. "Just don't go off piercing your nose."

Sophie smiled. "Daddy, don't be silly."

**Author's note:** Okay, so I know it doesn't sound like the late 1800s anymore, but trust me-I did some research, have a couple of middle school-grade novels that take place in the time period and focus on the same issues. No matter the time period, teenagers and kids have always kind of acted the same. As for Elizabeth's family, I did exaggerate a bit, but I wanted to show that the family was rather 'dysfunctional', if you will. And they actually did have ear-piercing kits, but some people did the whole needle/thread/ice method. And some men really did have their what-nots pierced.  
Best thing about history, we learn that it really does repeat itself in more ways than one.

To Be Continued....


	10. Year 11

**Chapter Ten: Year Eleven**

"Sophie?"

Watson knocked on her bedroom door before entering. She was sitting at her desk, working on some of her assignments. She turned her head to the open doorway.

"Supper time," Watson informed her. "Hurry and wash up."

"I'm not hungry," Sophie said, returning her attention to her math problems.

Furrowing his brows, the doctor moved over to the desk and rested his hand on her forehead. He then moved both of his hands to her ears. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes," she replied. "Why?"

"You didn't eat breakfast or lunch," Watson reminded her. "Not to mention you've been cooped up in here nearly the entire day." He stood back to look at her.

"I'm fine," Sophie told him. "I'm just not hungry."

Watson sighed, and raised his eyebrows. He shook his head and moved back towards the door. Turning back once more, he asked, "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Sophie managed a small smile.

* * *

The following day was a reversed scenario. Sophie ate twice as much breakfast as she normally would, finishing off most of her fathers' as well.

"My goodness!" Mrs. Hudson placed a hand to her chest. "You must've been famished!"

Sophie took Holmes' glass of orange juice right out of his hand and gulped it down. She then reached across the table and took Watson's. "Well," she breathed, setting the glass down. "I didn't eat yesterday."

Watson smiled over his paper. "I'm relieved to see you're eating _today_."

"Is there anything else?" The girl asked hopefully.

"Here," Holmes said dryly, handing her a cloth napkin. "Dispose of that while you eat us out of house and home."

Normally, Sophie would have laughed or playfully slapped him, but she took her father by surprise. Her face fell, and her cheeks heated. She looked away, tears filling her eyes. Watson and Mrs. Hudson also took notice.

"Sophie?" The nanny asked, moving to her quickly."Dearest, what's wrong?"

"I don't eat us out of house and home," she squeaked, burying her face in her hands as she began to cry.

Holmes looked as confused and guilty as anything. "Sophie, I-I wasn't serious...really..." he looked at Watson hopefully. The doctor said nothing.

Sophie only continued to cry, and Holmes took her by the wrist and pulled her from her chair, bringing her closer to him. "I'm so...terribly sorry..." he said, still sounding slightly perplexed as he rubbed her back.

* * *

Sophie didn't eat anything at lunch time, but she seemed cheerful. At supper, she was dark and moody, and extra sensitive. Holmes and Watson took careful precaution not to crack any jokes, about anything. They watched as she chased her food around her plate with her fork, slumped down in her chair.

"Sophie, you love meat pie," Watson coaxed, taking a bite of his own food.

"I'm not hungry," she muttered. "And why is it so important to you anyway? Why are you so interested in my eating habits?"

Holmes and Watson exchanged perplexed, furrow-browed glances. Holmes cleared his throat and pointed his fork at her, "Because you're our girl and we care about you." He forgot the anti-joke agreement. "And you need a few double rations-you're skin and bones."

"Holmes!" Watson hissed and kicked him under the table.

Sophie scowled and threw her fork down. She stood up, slamming her chair into the table. "I am not skin and bones!" She tore at her hair, making a series of half sobs, half growls. Holmes and Watson sat frozen in place like squirrels.

"Sophie-" Watson stood up. "Darling, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Sophie burst into tears. She stared up at the ceiling, her bottom lip trembling. "Why are you both so mean to me?"

" 'Mean to...'?" Holmes stood up too. He moved over to her, and Watson followed. They both knelt down.

"Something is wrong," Watson told her, brushing some of her hair back. "You're not eating well, you're sleeping a lot later than normal, and you're always on edge."

"I'm not skin and bones," Sophie sniffed, frowning at Holmes.

The detective bowed his head, sighing, and looked back up. "I apologize." He kissed her. "Tell us what's wrong."

The girl hesitated. "I don't know..." she started crying again. "I don't know, Daddy."

"Are your friends behaving?" Watson quizzed. "Elizabeth? Daniel?"

Sophie nodded, still weeping into her hands. The doctor pressed on. "Are your studies becoming too difficult?"

"N-no," she said, wiping her eyes.

"Is it something we did?"

"No..." Sophie turned to the stairs. "I want to go to bed."

"Sophie-" Holmes began, but Watson shook his head. He kissed her. "Go on then."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson and Watson left nearly simultaneously the following morning. Mrs. Hudson was going to spend the weekend with an old friend and her daughter. Watson had been called for in the wee hours of the morning on an emergency . Unfortunately, Holmes was called on a case as well, and had nobody to watch Sophie. He pondered the thought, dressing quickly, and finally decided to take her with him. She was eleven, after all, and it would do her some good to see the world from a sleuthing light.

He opened her door, peeking in. She was still asleep. He hated to wake up, seeing as how the sun hadn't even risen yet. He moved closer to the bed and his face softened. She looked so peaceful, even when she was snoring faintly. He crouched down and gently shook her. "Sophie?" he whispered. "Sophie?"

She stirred and opened her eyes slightly. Her brows furrowed as she yawned. "What's the matter?"

"Papa had to leave to see a patient, and Clarkey just came by to tell me I'm needed at a crime scene," the detective replied. "Would you like to accompany me? Or would you be too scared staying here by yourself?"

Sophie sat up. "No, I want to go."

"Alright." Holmes stood up. "I'll wait for you to get dressed and washed up."

* * *

He didn't intend to wait _that _long, and Sophie was taking quite a long time. He continued to glance at his-well, Watson's-pocket watch. He knocked on Sophie's door. "Darling?"

He started to open it when he heard screams from downstairs. Quickly, he flew over the banister, stumbling as he landed on his feet. Sophie emerged from the water closet, her face riddled with fear and desperation. "Daddy! Daddy!"

"What's wrong?" He took her by the shoulders.

"I'm hurt!" She sobbed.

Holmes immediately began scanning her for injuries. "Where? What happened?"

"Or maybe I'm sick," she sniffled. "Something is wrong...!"

"Dearest, you have to tell me," Holmes said, sighing a little. He continued to look over her for abnormalities.

Sophie licked her lips and leaned into his ear. "There's blood in my underwear."

Holmes' eyes became the size of saucers and he froze. "In your underwear?"

"Yes!" Sophie pulled back. "Daddy, where's Papa? He's a doctor!" She winced slightly. "My stomach hurts too."

Holmes stood up straight, breathing heavily, his chest heaving. He placed a hand to his beating heart. "Don't panic," he said, swallowing hard. He patted her. "Don't panic."

Looking around, he took her hand and led her upstairs. He took her to his room and waded through the clutter to his bed, ripping the comforter off. He wrapped it around her like a cloak. Sophie looked at him questioningly. He patted her again. "Don't panic."

"Am I going to die?" Sophie sniffled, hugging the blanket around her.

"No." Holmes said, pacing the room. "No, Darling, you're not going to die."

* * *

Watson returned a little after nine, and the front door swung open before he knocked. Holmes stared at him, his eyes dark and solemn and wide, frightening almost, and he yanked the doctor inside. Watson didn't even have time to hang his hat and coat up. He was already being paraded up the stairs.

"Holmes!" He said, trying to stay on a single step, grabbing the banister. "What's wrong?"

Holmes tried to force him further. "Go."

When they went to their room, a bundle of sniffling blanket was balled up on the edge of the bed. Watson's brows furrowed. He looked at Holmes who nodded to it with his head.

"Sophie?" Watson said slowly, approaching the bundle. He sat down beside her, pulling back the comforter from her head. "Sophie...?"

"Did Daddy tell you?" She asked, her eyes glossy with tears.

"Tell me what, Love?" He brushed a falling tear away with his thumb.

"I'm bleeding," she said.

"Where?" He pulled back more of the blankets.

Holmes cleared his throat loudly, making all sorts of sounds in between. Watson wondered if they were supposed to be words. He turned back to Sophie. "Bleeding where?"

She got to her knees and whispered in his ear. Watson's eyes widened and his moustache twitched. Holmes nodded furiously, his eyes just as wide. Watson stood up, clearing his own throat. He wrapped Sophie back up in the blanket. "Alright then," he said quickly. "Let's get you to a hospital."

"Hospital?" Sophie asked.

"Hospital?" Holmes looked at him. "Why? I mean, is that where we should take her?"

"Yes!" Watson hissed. "And we must hurry." He prodded Sophie to the door.

"Why the hospital?" Holmes muttered through the corner of his mouth.

"Because I don't know what to do..." Watson said, gulping.

"You're a doctor."

"Don't patronize me, just....help me!"

* * *

They went outside and Holmes jumped around, trying to flail his arms for a carriage. He whistled and yelled, but not one stopped. Funny stares came their way, but Holmes and Watson ignored them. Sophie doubled over, clutching her abdomen, moaning slightly. Watson began to sweat, and ran a hand through his short hair under his hat. Holmes took note of this and picked up Sophie, hoisting her over his shoulder.

"Holmes?" Watson frowned.

"We'll just have to go on foot," Holmes said.

"Daddy, put me down."

"Stay calm, Dear." Holmes patted her.

"I-I don't think this is necessary," Watson said, his voice slightly higher than normal. He gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his forehead. "Oh, lord! Where is Mrs. Hudson when you need her-"

"Get a hold of yourself!" Holmes slapped him.

"Thank you..." Watson breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes.

* * *

"How is she?" Holmes asked when a nurse emerged from the room, Sophie at her side.

"She's fine," the nurse said, smiling. She had one eyebrow slightly raised. "We had a little talk, and she said she is going to see her mother in a few days so I'm sure some more things can be explained..." she rubbed Sophie's hair affectionately. "I told her everything she needs to know and what she needs to do."

Watson looked at Sophie, and then back a the nurse. "And what should we do?"

The nurse smiled at Sophie and pointed to a bench. "Why don't you go wait right over there?"

Sophie did so, and the nurse motioned for Holmes and Watson to come closer. She said in a hushed voice, "Be very patient with her-she will be out of sorts, weepy, angry...give her lots of love, reassure her, compliment her..."

Holmes and Watson nodded. The nurse smiled a little. "And chocolate. Get her plenty of chocolate."

" 'Chocolate'?" Watson's brows furrowed.

"Maybe an aspirin a night, but definitely chocolate," the nurse said. She handed Watson a brown paper parcel. "These are for her. For her bleeding. They're already cut."

* * *

Sophie stayed in bed crying the remainder of the day. Watson and Holmes took turns checking in on her, and sure enough, she'd either be depressed or angry. She skipped dinner, but Holmes brought her dessert anyway-chocolate. He knocked on her door and opened it a crack. Sophie was lying in bed, hugging Lucy. She was still crying.

"Look what I've got." He waved the box.

Sophie glanced at him, and then stared back into space. She continued to whimper and wipe her eyes. Holmes sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing out her blanket.

"I hate this," she said.

"You'll get to see Mama soon," the detective said quietly. He wasn't sure if that was the hopeful response she wanted, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Hmm..." she replied flatly.

"You know," Holmes sighed. "I know I'm old and ugly, but I'm always here for you. Papa too."

Sophie turned to him, her brows furrowed. She smiled a little. "You're not old and ugly."

Holmes smiled too. "Old and ugly and tired and smelly-"

Sophie sat up, chuckling slightly. "Daddy, stop it."

Holmes stroked some of her hair. "But it's alright because I have a beautiful, smart, talented girl to make up for it." He opened the chocolate box. "Go on."

Sophie frowned skeptically at them. "Will you eat one too?"

It seemed like an odd request, but Holmes complied. Sophie took one and popped it into her mouth. She then settled for another. As she chewed, she leaned back on her palms. "It's not fair. It doesn't happen to boys."

"We have our fair share of... issues with growing up," the detective reassured her. "We go through strange vocal changes...we have...well, just issues..."

"I'm sorry I was so cross with you and Papa yesterday," Sophie said quietly, beginning to cry. "Daddy, I'm sorry."

Holmes pulled her against him, kissing her forehead. "Nothing to be sorry about..." he muttered through his kisses.

Watson entered the room and Holmes raised his eyes. Watson smiled a little, and moved to sit on the bed. Sophie pulled away from Holmes and hugged the doctor. He stroked her hair. "Daddy and I probably seemed like a regular pair of loons today, didn't we?"

"Yes..." Sophie giggled into his shirt.

* * *

In their own bed, later that night, Holmes and Watson stared up at the ceiling. For a few moments, neither of them said anything to each other.

"Where does the time go, Watson?" Holmes finally asked. "Seems like yesterday, she was toddling about, climbing on things, babbling in that little voice..."

" 'Lucy!' " They both said simultaneously in high-pitched voices. They chuckled.

"I know what mean," Watson said. "They really do grow up so fast." He was quiet for a moment. "What are we going to do when boys wish to start courting her?"

Holmes chuckled slownly, nodding his head. There was a devious glint in his eye. "You're funny, Doctor."

"Good night, Holmes."

"Good night, Watson."

To Be Continued....


	11. Year 12

**Chapter Eleven: Year Twelve**

Sophie turned from her desk when she heard tapping at her window. She quickly pushed her chair away and made her way over, unlocking the latch. "Did you bring everything?"

"Yes," Daniel grunted, tossing a burlap sack inside, and then hoisting himself over and inside. "Why did I have to climb through your window?"

"Because I'm not allowed to have company when my parents aren't home," Sophie said simply, kneeling down and digging through the sack. "Ironically, _why_ they're not home is the reason I needed you here." She tipped the bag over, dumping out its contents.

"Didn't they say they were working late on a case?" Daniel scratched his head, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"They've been doing this for the past three weeks, every Friday evening," Sophie said, her eyes getting wider with each syllable. She sighed, letting them roll back in her skull. "And I don't believe in coincidence."

She held up two articles of clothing in each hand, looking between them. Daniel moved over to her desk chair and sat down. Frowning, he said, "They're not going to fit you properly. I'm bigger than you."

"It'll be good enough," Sophie said. "I'll be right back. I'm going to go and change." She left the room, next door to her parents' room, and shut the door. She eyed the floor and noticed small, wadded up ticket stubs in the far corner near the waste basket. A short red hair also caught her eye.

She hurriedly dressed in the shirt, slacks, boots and jacket, and fixed her hair into a messy bun/ponytail before stuffing the stubborn curls under the newsboy cap. She returned to her room and Daniel chuckled. "You look ridiculous."

"Do I look like a boy?" Sophie turned around, making a complete circle. "Be honest. Do you think they'll recognize me?"

"Mm..." Daniel cocked his head. "Rub some dirt into it."

"Beg pardon?" Sophie cocked a brow.

"Dirt," Daniel repeated. "When we go outside, rub some dirt on your face. Then you'll look like a boy."

Sophie nodded. She glanced at the window. "Nanny will hear me go out, so we have to go through the window."

* * *

Once they were outside and on the street, Daniel had to jog to keep up with Sophie's brisk pace. She stopped long enough to get some dirt on her palms and trail them all over her face. She then rubbed them up and down her arms, and down her legs.

"We're not _that_ dirty," Daniel said, frowning. He wiped sweat from his forehead. "And how do you know where your parents are anyway?"

"It's a pub...or the back of a pub..." Sophie stared up into the night sky, pondering. "Their clothes smelled like ale and sweat."

"Do you know how many pubs smell like ale and sweat?" Daniel sighed. "This was a bad idea. I need to be studying, or...not here with you..."

"Punch Bowl!" Sophie snapped her fingers.

" 'Punch Bowl'?" Daniel repeated, nodding slowly. "Um...right...how do you know that?"

Sophie pointed. "Because it's right there."

Daniel stared at the shady building. He looked at Sophie and said, "But that doesn't mean they're there...does it?" Despite his need to argue, he rarely doubted Sophie's unique abilities.

"They leave every evening at seven, and return before midnight," Sophie said. "This is the closest pub-any other, they would have to return past midnight in order to get a decent drink. It wouldn't be worth the trip." She knelt down and picked up a fragment of a pebble. "Besides, the dirt matches what's been on the soles of their shoes."

"You need a hobby," Daniel said simply, walking ahead of her.

"What I need is a new best friend," Sophie countered, shoving him lightly. She stared at the pub. "What on Earth could Daddy and Papa be doing here every Friday night?"

"Drinking?" Daniel shrugged.

"Daddy's anti-social," Sophie said. "And Papa only drinks wine, or so he says..." She adjusted her cap. "Well, come on then."

"We can't just walk in there," Daniel frowned, catching up to her. "I'm not certain children are allowed."

"We're not children, Daniel," Sophie said, rolling her eyes. "We're twelve. We're _youths_." She tugged at his arm. "Come on. We have to find out what they're doing."

Daniel reluctantly followed her, but was caught off guard when she made a sharp turn from the door and moved to the side of the building. She found another door around back, slightly ajar, loud voices inside. She turned to Daniel. "Should we go in?"

"You're going to do whatever you want anyway," Daniel grumbled. He opened the door and gestured for her to go in. "Ladies first."

They ducked as a bottle flew out the door, smashing on the ground a few feet away. Sophie smiled sweetly at Daniel, her grin faker than anything. "Thank you." She walked in, and Daniel followed.

They were at the back of a large crowd, men and women alike screaming. It was hot and reeked of sweat. Daniel stiffened, looking around. "We'll never find them like this."

Sophie was already looking around, her head craned. "You're right." A small platform in the far upper corner of the room caught her eye. "Follow me please."

They moved across the room, slid up against the wall so no angry elbows could strike them, and Sophie led them to a small flight of stairs that went to another room. A few feet across was the flat platform. She dug her heels into the floor. Daniel grabbed her arm. "Don't you dare jump, Sophie Holmes!" he ordered. "You'll fall and break your neck."

Sophie looked down. "No. Someone's bound to break my fall." She shook him off and made a running jump, landing on the platform, but nearly sliding off the other end. She steadied herself, and then motioned for Daniel to do the same. He shook his head. The door behind him began to open, and he panicked, making a running jump as well. He landed better than Sophie had, but he was shaking.

"You're going to get us killed!" He frowned, and noticed Sophie wasn't paying attention to him. He followed her gaze and his eyes widened.

"Is that your father?" He asked.

Sure enough, Holmes was in a big square plot, fenced by ramshack walls and screaming people. He was dripping sweat and blood, a much bigger man before him, dancing on the balls of his feet. The bigger man hopped from foot to foot, his fists out, yelling a stream of obscenities in Holmes' face.

"He's a boxer," Daniel whispered in disbelief.

Sophie briefly averted her gaze, and quickly spotted Watson, off to the side, talking with another man. Watson said something, the man wrote it down. She moved her gaze back to Holmes, who had begun to fight.

"This is mad," Daniel said, shaking his head. "He never seemed like one to go to these places." He frowned. "And you said he was anti-social."

Sophie didn't say anything. Daniel shut up too, and they watched Holmes continue to throw punches, be punched, kick, be kicked, and the other man even bit him. He elbowed Holmes hard in the upper torso, sending him stumbling against the wall. An onlooker just over the flemsy barrier laughed and poured some of their liquor onto the detective's head. Sophie fumed and stood up, running and jumping back to the staircase.

"Sophie!" Daniel hissed, standing up. "Sophie!"

Sophie was already down the stairs, plowing her way through the crowd. People stepped aside, confusion written all over their face as she moved to the wall, climbing over. An uproar sounded, and the other man in the ring spit in her direction. Sophie ignored him and knelt down, brushing some of Holmes' sweaty hair away from his forehead. His eyes widened and he quickly slid up the length of the wall.

"What's this then?" The other fighter scoffed. "Your midget apprentice?"

"Why are you here?!" Sophie demanded angrily, hitting Holmes on the chest. "What are you doing?!"

"Sophie-" Holmes, moved her behind him as the other man, somewhat sloppily, charged at him. He kicked the other man.

"I hate you!" Sophie screamed. "This is your..._case?!_ Boxing in some shady pub?!"

The yells were dying down, confusion spreading across the audience. People were shutting up to try and hear what was going on. Watson took notice and immediately swore, rushing over, hopping over the wall the best he could. Sophie was throwing a fit, even as Watson pulled her away from the detective.

"What's going on?!" She looked between them. "Tell me."

Daniel was the last to come into the ring, toppling over the side. He stood up and dusted his pants off. "Evening, Dr. Watson..." he looked down. "Mr. Holmes."

* * *

"I understand you're angry," Holmes said when the four of them were outside. He dabbed at his swet and blood with a dirty rag.

Sophie narrowed her gaze, but said nothing. She continued to fume. Watson and Holmes looked at each other. Daniel kicked a pebble with his foot.

"We shouldn't have lied to you," Watson finally said. "We're sorry."

"No-" Sophie pointed a finger at him. "You're sorry you were caught. That's all your sorry about." She wiped at angry tears she knew were trying to come. She fought them back.

"She's right," Holmes muttered, sighing. He pulled Sophie against his side. "But we're also sorry for upsetting you."

Sophie pulled away from him, her arms crossed. Daniel ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. He sighed and turned to the grown men. "Could you not mention this to my mum?"

* * *

"How is she?" Holmes asked, standing up.

Irene shrugged. "Not too thrilled with you." She smiled, looking away. "She, um, she says she wants to live with me."

Holmes and Watson looked at each other. Irene sat down in the chair across from them, knitting her fingers together. "I've actually been thinking about this for a while..." she confessed. "I just always wanted it to be Sophie's decision."

The doctor or detective didn't say anything. Irene cleared her throat, shifting slightly. "I'm moving back to America," she said.

" 'America'?" Holmes muttered, sitting up straight. He chuckled, though nothing was funny. "No, you can't take her to America."

"If she wants to go with me, I'm not going to stop her," Irene countered.

"No, but we will." Holmes looked at Watson for reassurance, but the doctor gave him a look that told him the opposite.

"Sophie!" Holmes called. When she didn't answer, he whistled loudly.

In a few moments, Sophie trudged in, barely standing in the room. Irene smiled sweetly at her and Sophie moved to her mother's side. Holmes sighed, tossing his violin stick onto the floor. "Sophie, we will never attend another boxing match as long as we live."

Watson nodded. "Never."

Sophie sighed. "I'm not really all that angry anymore," she said quietly. "But my feelings are still hurt." She looked between them. "You both lied to me. Like it was the easiest thing in the world."

Irene stroked some of her hair. "Now, Darling-"

"I don't lie to you," Sophie continued.

"Change might be good for her," Irene suggested. "And it'll only be for a year or so."

" 'A year or so'?" Watson raised his eyebrows.

Holmes stood up. "No, I won't allow it."

"She's my daughter too," Irene said, also standing. She was smiling, but there was challenge in her eyes. "And you've had her for quite some time...her whole life?" She raised her eyebrows.

"And why was that?" Holmes asked quietly.

"Holmes," Watson warned, shooting him a look.

"I'll leave it up to her," Irene said. She bent down and kissed Sophie. "Are you hungry? Want to go and get some lunch?"

* * *

"So you're moving?" Daniel asked, closing his book.

"I haven't decided," Sophie confessed. "I'm still so angry with them."

Daniel's mother entered the parlor, eyeing Daniel's closed book. "Get all of your work done?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Daniel said.

His mother smiled at Sophie. "You get more and more beautiful with every passing day," she said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. She then did the same to Daniel. "Oh, how I wish I had a little girl."

"Mum..." Daniel turned red.

Sophie smiled. "Thank you, Miss Krupnik."

Darlene left the room and Sophie turned to Daniel. "I guess I won't leave, but I'm going to be cruel anyway."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Here we go."

"I'm going to make them think I'm leaving," Sophie said. "Let them see how it feels to be betrayed."

"Do you really think that's going to solve anything?" Her best friend asked. "Won't it just cause more problems?" He frowned skeptically. "And what about your mother? It'll hurt her as well, won't it?"

"She said she's not moving back to America unless I go with her," Sophie said. "And she really doesn't even want to go."

"She told you?"

"No, I could just tell."

"How?"

Sophie sighed. "I don't know. I just did, alright?"

* * *

Sophie decided not to lie. Daniel was right. Two wrongs didn't make a right. She needed to practice what she preached. When she returned home, Daniel walked her to the front door. "Don't do it," he said.

"I won't," Sophie replied. "Promise."

"You listened to me-" Daniel pointed a finger. "You're not Sophie."

"Goodbye, Daniel." She opened the front door and stepped in.

She went upstairs to find Holmes and Watson working on an actual case. When they heard the door open, they both turned to her. Sophie filled her cheeks with air and released it slowly. "I'm not leaving. I was never going to."

More staring. Sophie continued. "I just don't like being lied to, and my feelings were hurt, and I was worried because I want you both around forever, or at least as long as I can have you, and Mama's not going ot America without me and-" she paused for breath. "I love you."

Watson and Holmes smiled. The doctor replied first. "Love you more."

Sophie smiled and approached them. "What are you working on?"

Holmes kissed the top of her head, muttering, "Love you the most" before explaining the case.

Sophie leaned against the desk, fingering the evidence, and then rattled off her own theories. As she did so, Holmes and Watson nodded, listening intently. Watson moved closer, standing to one side of her, partly behind her, Holmes already on the other side. Their fingers brushed against each other, and they smiled, narrowing their eyes to glance at one another.

"So, I think that it was really the wife that stole the gun," Sophie concluded. "I'll bet that it's somewhere in her wardrobe."

"We'll have to check," Holmes agreed. "But I have a feeling you're right."

"Indeed," Watson added, nodding his head.

**Author's note: **Year twelve. Ah...preteens...such a delightful catastrophe. Anyway, I wanted to point out-somebody asked in a review-what Sophie looks like. I don't like to give physical description to OC characters b/c I feel it takes away from the imaginative possiblilites. Just picture what a Sherlock/Irene smear might look like. As of right now, I think of Sophie as one of those skinny-minnie preteens, the little ones that have no weight on them, but that's just me.

To Be Continued...


	12. Year 13

Chapter Twelve: Year Thirteen

"Papa?" Sophie entered Watson's study one evening, already in her pajamas, but her hair up and pulled back . "You're a doctor. What is the best solution for this bloody, blemished skin of mine?" She rubbed at her face.

"I'm afraid nobody's really made that leap in the medical field," her father sighed, getting up to move to her side. "It's just part of growing up."  
Sophie had become obsessed with personal hygiene. She refused to eat chocolate, bathed two to three times each day, and was no longer interested in getting her fingernails dirty. It didn't bother Watson a bit, but her other father, Holmes, was becoming a bit annoyed by it. Not only did Sophie take pride in her grooming, but she nagged him about his.

"I can never leave this house again if I get one more spot on my face," she sighed, sitting down on Watson's desktop. "Or I'll have to wear a bag on my head with eyeholes cut out."  
Watson rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You only have one spot on your face."  
Sophie groaned. "And everyone can see it! And the rest of my face is red and blotchy!"  
She slid off of the desktop and let her hair down. "And my hair is breaking at the ends, and all of the other girls call me 'stick' and 'beanpole'!"  
Sophie was thin for her age, but not underweight. Holmes and Watson tired of her self-image doubts, but nothing they said or did seemed to console her. She seemed to find something to complain about every second of the day. Holmes had suggested they dispose of all of the mirrors in the house, but Mrs. Hudson had given him a stern enough look that he'd lied and said he was joking.

"Adolescence is difficult," Watson told her. "But it doesn't last forever."  
"Do you and Daddy even care that I look like some kind of monster?" Sophie frowned. "My face and my hair…I'm just…ugly!"  
"You are _not_ ugly," he said sternly. "You're self-conscious. We all are at that age."  
Sophie let her eyes roll back in their sockets. "And that's another thing. Everything I say or do is because I'm at _that_ age." She said it like she was disgusted by her own words. "What has my age got to do with anything?"  
"Sophie." Watson sighed. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't think you're ugly. Daddy doesn't think so. Mrs. Hudson, your mother, your instructors…it's just you."  
"Daniel thinks so," Sophie said, less angry this time. "He doesn't even talk to me anymore."  
"He's at that-" Watson stopped himself.  
"Age," she finished quietly. Sighing, she put her hair back up and asked, "Do you and Daddy get cross with me? For being such a grouch?"  
"No." Watson embraced her. "I know it's not easy, but believe me when I tell you that you are the most beautiful girl I've ever known."

Sophie smiled a little, crinkling her nose. "Even with spots on my face?"  
"Even if you had horns and a tail," he said.

"Papa!" She laughed, pushing herself away.

Sophie spent more time with her mother, who seemed to understand things better than her father. One afternoon, she taught Sophie how to put on makeup. Irene was a true artist when it came to powders and painted lips, and when she handed Sophie a handheld mirror to look at herself, her daughter almost gasped. "Oh my goodness!" Sophie touched her face.

"You didn't need a lot," Irene said. "You already have thick eyelashes and good bone structure."  
"Like you," Sophie said, looking at her. "Can you teach me? To do this by myself?"  
"Of course, my love." Irene kissed her forehead.

The two of them spent hours going over makeup, perfumes, and hair products. Irene put some pink cream from a little jar into her hair and it turned thick and fluffy and smelled of strawberries. Sophie practiced on her mother and on herself and after all was said and done, she scrubbed her face clean.

"Mama, do you think I'm pretty?" She asked. "I mean, even without you making me up like that?"  
"You're the prettiest girl I know," Irene replied. "Come on. Let's make some tea."  
Sophie felt so comfortable with her mother, less judged. She spent the afternoon assisting in preparing for lunch, and then she read poetry to her mother-her own, and Irene read love letters from men who'd been enchanted wit her over the years. By the evening, they just rested by each other on Irene's large bed and just talked. Things Sophie couldn't talk about with her fathers. Boys, breast size, the evilness of other girls. During the long, drawn-out gab, Sophie felt an idea creeping into her head that she couldn't shake. Finally, she had to voice it.

"Mama, I want to live here with you," She said suddenly.  
Irene didn't seem surprised. "I would like that."  
"You would?" Sophie rolled over to face her. "Really? Even with all of your traveling and what not?"  
"I don't do much traveling anymore," her mother replied, rolling over to face Sophie. "I like to be close to you."

Sophie returned home and couldn't help but try and be extra loving towards her fathers. She embraced them both when she returned home.  
"I missed you," she told them.  
"We missed you," Holmes replied. "And, I have some very exciting news. A new case. A missing engagement ring. A suspicious bridesmaid-"  
"Daddy, I'm not really…" Sophie winced. "I'm not all that concerned with cases right now."  
Holmes looked as if she'd just announced she enjoyed kicking puppies. He turned to Watson who just shrugged one shoulder.  
"You must be famished," Watson said, patting her shoulder. "Mrs. Hudson is making us some sandwiches."  
Holmes followed them quickly. "No longer concerned…?" He frowned. "Are you feeling well?"  
Sophie tucked some hair behind her ear. "I'm fine."  
"The bridesmaid was supposed to receive her grandmother's ring, but her sister married first so the parents gave it to her-"  
"And I'm certain you'll find it." Sophie smiled at him. "I have faith in you, Dad."  
"But." Holmes smiled too-a nervous smile. "The ring was-"  
"What kind of sandwiches?" Sophie looked at Watson.

Sophie sat at her desk that evening, a million crumpled balls of paper littering the floor. She had decided to write her fathers a letter explaining why she was moving away, trying to think of the best way to sort our her reasons without getting her feelings too involved. These days, she liked to keep her feelings private. She remembered being younger, throwing tantrums, and often she overhead Watson tell Holmes that she _needed_ to throw tantrums. _To express herself_, he always said.

Sophie thought of the best way she could express herself in words on paper. Before she could rewrite her first line, something hit her window. Her brows furrowed. Rain? No, the night was clear. It was too warm for hail. Going to her window, she realized they were rocks. And they were not falling. They were rising. Another one hit. She opened the window.  
"Hey!" She called down angrily.  
"Hey." Daniel grinned up at her, his teeth just a tad crooked now, his legs too long, and he had several spots on his face.  
"Why are you throwing rocks at my window?" Sophie demanded.  
"I needed to talk to you." The boy shrugged.

Sophie frowned. "About what?"

Daniel hadn't spoken to her in months. Often, he ran around with other boys, who found it enjoyable to fling mud at girls and tease them. Daniel hadn't flung any mud at Sophie, but he'd also known her long enough to know that being skinny didn't make her vulnerable. She'd beat him up lots of times when they were younger.  
"Anything I guess." He shrugged again.  
Sophie was suspicious. "Is your lot down there?" She craned her head out, just to see if she could catch a glimpse of some moving shadows.  
"Nah." Daniel shook his head. "Sophie, come on."  
"Alright! Just let me get dressed first!"

She dressed and climbed out of her window, landing beside Daniel gracefully. He was taller now, and she had to look up at him, one eyebrow raised.  
"What?" She said flatly.  
"I need your help," He muttered. "Well, not me. One of the boys."  
"Help? From me?" She was now very suspicious.

"His sister's getting married and the family ring's disappeared," Daniel said.  
" I know, my father's working that case," Sophie said. "But he's brilliant. You know that."  
"Michael has the ring," Daniel said.  
"Who?" Sophie asked.  
"My mate!" Daniel groaned. "He stole the ring. It was supposed to go his other sister. She deserves it. She's the firstborn."  
"So what do you want me to do?" Sophie frowned.

"Convince your dad to stop digging," Daniel told her, and there was an odd clip to his voice.  
It took Sophie only a second to register what it was. She puffed up, crossing her arms. "Aren't your Mister Tough Guy."  
"If Michael's found out, his parents will ship him away to school," Daniel said.  
"Why doesn't he just put the ring back?" Sophie quizzed.

"His other sister will get upset and rat him out!" Daniel told her. "Come on, Sophie. You're my best friend."  
Sophie stared into space, pondering for a moment. Finally, she said, "I can't convince my father to close the case."  
Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping.  
"But I can temporarily take his mind off it," she continued. "But that's it."  
"That's all Michael needs is some time," he replied. "Thank you, Sophie." He started to hug her, but stopped. "Um…good night then."  
"Right." She went back to the wall and climbed back up into her room.

"Daddy? Papa? Nanny?" Sophie had decided to wait until breakfast to break the news.  
"Yes, Dear?" Mrs. Hudson smiled sweetly at her.  
"Hm?" Watson graciously put down his morning paper.  
Holmes simply stared at her, his eyebrows raised.  
"I'm moving out," Sophie said.

To Be Continued


End file.
